From Day to Night
by Deverien
Summary: Ranger, thief, priestess & murderer. Over a solid 24 hour period, these four must stop a vengeful cabal from igniting a genocidal crusade. Beliefs will be broken, secrets torn out, and the line between hero and villain will soon fade away. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** The Forgotten Realms campaign setting and its related materials are owned by Wizards of the Coast. I claim no ownership over those creations. However, the characters, events, and the overall plot in this story are all my own original creation.

**Author's Note:** This story represents the events in a solid 24-hour period, with each chapter (except the prologue and epilogue) representing one hour of that day.

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Prologue

From all outward appearances, he looked like nothing more than a common elderly man, sitting calmly at his desk while momentarily taking a sip from his cup of hot tea. Norris laughed inwardly as he silently stared across at the senior. After all, old man Cordas was anything but common.

"Tell me, Norris," Cordas suddenly said before pausing to blow on his tea. "How do you judge the worth of a man's character?"

Norris rolled his eyes and glanced around at the office's sparse wooden walls, knowing full well that Cordas was likely going to answer the question himself. The old blowhard never did like to shut up.

"Is he simply the sum of all his yesterdays, nothing more than a reflection of his past?" Cordas continued. "Or is there something more, some intrinsic part that defines what he is today?" The old man leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully stared across his desk at Norris in the opposite seat.

After waiting a few long seconds of silence, Norris opened his mouth to respond.

Cordas suddenly cut him off. "You see, the historians would have you believe that the past is what shapes us, binding us to what we are. I disagree. True, the past may offer some insight, but it is the present that is most important to us. No choice is bound by what has passed before." He smiled darkly, "How do you feel about that?"

Norris folded his arms over his chest as he glared daggers at the elderly man. "You know, Cordas, for a self-styled crimelord, you certainly like to talk about stale philosophy. Does it make you feel smarter than you actually are?"

"Such rudeness!" cried Cordas as he widened his eyes in mock offense. "So sad that you're ungrateful. Especially after all we've done for you."

Norris reached down and absently rubbed at his legs, "I think I've already paid my debt to you. Ten years is the longest I've been away from you and your stinking operations. Why'd you have to end that streak, why have you called me back?"

"We need someone of your… talents for a special task we been contracted to carry out. I think it would be in your best interests to follow."

This time, Norris laughed out loud. "I don't care what you think; I refuse. Do you think I'm still afraid of you? You going to break my other leg this time?"

Cordas' expression suddenly melted into a harsh glare, "Oh no, that will not be necessary. This time, I have decided to use a more effective means of persuasion." He glanced up at someone over Norris' shoulder and gave a short nod.

Immediately, Norris began to stand up and turn, but a heavy pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and roughly forced him back down. A second later, Norris felt a sharp dagger puncture the back of his neck, severing through tendons and blood vessels to draw a stream of blood. He clenched his teeth and spat a curse at Cordas, who simply leaned forward on his arms and looked on with indifference.

Cordas spoke, "You see, Norris, the client for this particular job is a very important figure in my business. And I cannot spare any expense in carrying out my lord's will." He waved his hand and the dagger was unsympathetically jerked out of Norris' flesh.

"I offered you a chance here and now, and I would have been willing to forget our dealings in the past. But I suppose that's your problem; you never think of where you are and what's right in front of you. Always looking back at what has happened before, but at the expense of the moment."

The younger man slapped a hand over his neck wound and looked to the side, where he saw one of Cordas' goons holding a weapon. It was a dagger dripping in a mixture of Norris' blood and some sort of green slime. Norris suddenly noticed a warm, unpleasant tingling sensation coming from his wound.

"You _will_ do as I direct, Norris. Because as of this moment, you have only twenty-four hours left to live."

**(6:00 AM) Dawn**


	2. Dawn

**Dawn**

**(6:00 AM)**

"Take him away," said Cordas, standing from his desk to face the window. "Have him prepared for the mission." Two of the crimelord's goons seized Norris by the arms, and hauled him toward the door.

"Cordas, you bastard! What have you done to me? What's this all about!"

The old man took another sip from his cup as he watched the sun rising over the Baldur's Gate cityscape. "Is it not obvious? You have been affected with a poisonous concoction designed to kill you within a day, and quite painfully I might add. It's a magical poison I acquired from the Talonites, so don't think you'll be able to have it cured at a temple.

"Naturally, I have the cure for it." Reaching into his pockets, Cordas removed two vials of a glowing green restorative. "Once again, I control your fate."

"Bloody bastard," Norris hissed. "I'll not be your slave again!"

Cordas stared at the man with disdain and flicked a hand to the side, whipping one of the vials into the wall. The glass shattered, leaving a runny smear of the green restorative on the wall. Norris struggled to be free, but the goons held him firmly in place.

"Don't speak ill to me again." His point made, Cordas tucked the remaining vial away in his tunic pocket. "If you wanted out, you should have gone running back to the forest you came from and contented yourself with eating grubs and worms. Isn't that what you simpleton rangers do?"

"I was cast out of the forests years ago. I couldn't return even if I wanted to."

"Of course. I saw to that, didn't I? Now all that remains is this useless existence you call a life." Cordas turned back toward the window and continued to watch the sunrise. "You have no choice in this matter, unless you wish to die a hollow death. Horance will explain the details of the mission to you. Ta, for now," he said with a wave as Norris was dragged out into what would be one of the most unforgiving days of his life.

The old man returned to his desk and traced a finger over the lip of his cup, then shouted after his goons, "And have someone send a call for my breakfast! Such an uncivilized world when a man cannot enjoy his morning meal on time."

(6:05 AM)

In another dark corner of the city, a crime of a different sort was being played out. A lone thief crept through a darkened east-end living room, eyes fixed on the mantelpiece across from him. Atop the fireplace shelf hung a pair of ornate, decorative military sabres forged of solid platinum. He stopped a few steps away from a small rug on the ground to stand back and admire the prize.

Licking his lips, the young lad couldn't suppress a wide grin. Once he claimed the platinum blades for his superiors, he would at long last be made a full member of the Shadow Thieves. Stepping boldly, he strode forth across the rug to snatch his treasure. But as soon as his foot touched down against the wool carpet, there was a loud 'click', and the thief's spirits suddenly plunged.

Thick, black ooze sprayed down on his body from a series of tiny nozzles lining the ceiling, prompting a mixed cry of fear and frustration from the hapless victim.

From the shadows, a voice called out, "Lights."

Instantly, the curtains of the room were pulled aside and the rising sun streamed into the room. The would-be thief craned his head up and wiped the black slime from him eyes to see several high-ranking Shadow Thieves standing on a second-floor balcony above. All wore disappointed frowns, though the largest by far came from the elf standing at the middle.

That particular elf happened to be the local Shadow Thief guildmaster, Cerdan Engeven. The young thief swallowed nervously and shuffled his feet slightly as he waited for Cerdan to pass his judgment on the thief's test.

"Terrible," said the elf, shattering the trainee thief's ambitions with a single breath. "Simply, utterly terrible. It's no wonder that professional thieves are a dying breed." Cerdan shook his head. "So pie-eyed with the shiny artifacts that you weren't looking in the right place, hm? If that had been a real trap, you might have been splashed with a jet of acid. Ever had that happen? Not a pleasant prospect, I tell you."

"B-but guild lieutenant Tomar said that thieves should never take their eyes off the prize," cried the failed thief, looking with pleading eyes toward the man standing at the elf's left side. Tomar grimaced slightly and looked away.

"Guild lieutenant Tomar never even passed the thieves' test himself. That's why you shouldn't take advice from the lieutenant in charge of 'long-winding." The elf smiled and turned an eye toward the lieutenant.

A light chuckle came from the other guild members in the room, save Tomar himself. Long-winding was a mocking term for the most useless branch of guild business; of the guildhouse's three lieutenants, Tomar was in charge of maintaining communication and contacts with other Shadow Thief cells. Something that required much talking, and few actual thief skills.

The guildmaster went on, "Go clean up, boy. And do use your head next time. If you recruits keep failing these tests, we're going to run out of tar." Cerdan watched as the young thief eagerly scurried away. "As for you," he pointed at Tomar, "meet me in my office in ten minutes. It's past time we had a chat on who's in charge of this guildhouse."

Tomar glared, but didn't meet the guildmaster's eyes. He lingered behind in the room as the rest of the thieves slinked away.

"Must be my lucky break," he muttered, taking some solace in the knowledge that things were soon going to permanently change in the guildhouse.

(6:13 AM)

Norris stood at the middle of a makeshift sparring room, trying not to wince too much at the painful burning sensation coming from the gash on his neck. In front of him were two of Cordas' henchmen who would be directing him on the mission. The first man, Horance, was a disheveled fellow who wore the trappings of a wizard.

The second man had foreign features and a tawny-skinned complexion, and was rigid like a statue of a soldier. For a moment, Norris thought the foreigner might have been sleeping while standing up. By the man's facial features, Norris guessed that he was from one of the unapproachable nations in the east. If that was the case, then Cordas wasn't kidding when he said he was sparing no expense on this mission.

"So you're Norris. Somehow I thought you'd be shorter," Horance said as he finally turned to address Norris. He scratched his chin stubble as he looked Norris up and down. "In any case, here." He tossed a bandage roll to the poisoned man. "Cover up the cut on your neck. No use in trying to bleed the poison out; it's magical."

Norris stared at the gauze wrap, but didn't put it on. "What guarantee do I have that I'll get the antidote when this is over?"

"Absolutely none. On the other hand, you've probably known Cordas well enough to realize that he always keeps his word." Horance turned to a large locker in the sparring room and began checking through the weapons within. "You're a ranger, right? Skinny fellow like you probably hasn't done much hand-to-hand bladework. You're on sniper duty for this mission, so you get a bow and nothing else. You know, I've heard that archers use the longest bows they can find because it compensates for other departments. Any truth to that?"

"You're confident enough to arm me with a weapon?" There was a bit of a challenge in Norris' voice as he spoke.

"Yes," the wizard chimed with a thin smile, "Because I told Cordas that if I am killed or arrested for _any_ reason, that he should destroy the antidote immediately and leave you to rot in a ditch somewhere." He leaned in with a devilish grin. "So you'd better be watching out for my safety."

"And what of you?" Norris asked, jerking his head toward the easterner. "Do I have to keep you alive as well?"

The tawny-skinned man simply stared and remained silent.

"That's Shen, brought in across the continent from Kara-Tur. He doesn't speak a word of Common, so don't think he'll be helping you." Horance barked a few sharp syllables of a foreign language, and Shen sneered at Norris. "But he's nothing more than a sword-arm; he's just as expendable as you are. Hells, his katana is probably more valuable than any service he could provide."

Horance reached into the locker and removed an unstrung wooden longbow, which he tossed to Norris. "I take it you still remember how to use one of these?"

The weapon was mottled and poorly kept; several bugs had evidently been dining well on one end of the bow. "So much for 'sparing no expense'," he mumbled. Norris experimentally bent the wooden shaft and found that it was still serviceable, despite the damage. "Just tell me what I have to do."

Horance reached into his robe and held up a scroll, which he briefly scanned over as he spoke, "Two assignments: First, there's a big-name criminal who operates in the merchant district. Apparently he needs to be killed. Next, we need to meet with a few of Cordas' other henchmen near the Temple of Tyr in the nobles' district of Baldur's Gate. We'll be pulling off a little heist on the white-robes. If all goes well, you'll be through before lunch."

"Who's the criminal we need to eliminate?"

"Not 'we'. You. As for who he is… that is not your concern. All you need to know is that either he dies or you die."

Norris felt unease creeping through his stomach, but didn't say anything. Cordas' actions seemed a little extreme for a mission that would only take a few hours to pull off. The poisoned man wasn't naïve enough to believe that he'd be given the antidote so easily. Still, the former ranger had no choice at the moment, so he would have to play along for now.

"I'll need a strong bowstring and a better pair of boots," Norris said, "It's going to be a long day."

(6:24 AM)

Cerdan tapped the side of his face as he sat alone in his office, staring out the window at the open streets. Far off in the distance, he could see darkened clouds forming to the north. It probably meant that a storm was brewing further along the Sword Coast, maybe around Waterdeep.

The elf turned as his door creaked open, and one of his guild lieutenants, Tomar, brazenly strolled in and plopped himself down into the opposite chair.

"Why, yes, you can come in," said Cerdan with a touch of amusement, "Such a polite fellow, are you not?"

"Don't waste my time. I've better things to do, elf."

Cerdan leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the corner of his desk. "Tell me something. When did you think you could start interfering with the new recruits' training?" The elf raised a hand before Tomar could object, "Please, spare me the pleas of ignorance. You know your place in the guild."

Arms folded tightly over his chest, Tomar inclined his head a few millimetres in what might have been a grudging nod. "Of the three lieutenants, I'm the only lieutenant who doesn't have any say in training the recruits."

"That's right. So leave the rogue training to Seffron and Kretia. The last thing I need is a bunch of half-witted thieves running about town like fools."

Frowning deeply, Tomar locked eyes with the elf. "That's the problem. We need _more_ guild members. In the past month over half of our agents have turned up dead in the streets! We're facing a war, and we don't even know who our enemy is!"

The guildmaster sighed and closed his eyes. "You don't need to remind me. I am pursuing the situation to the best of my ability. But that's why our guild members need to be highly skilled; it won't do us any good to start throwing green rogues out there to be killed."

"Then we need more assassins. If we're being killed off, it's probably the knights of Tyr. We can send more blades out, answer the faith-screamers with force and then–"

"No." Cerdan's voice had become icy, and Tomar sealed up. "I won't be party to a mass bloodletting in the city. You've never seen what a real war can be like." The elf left his chair and strolled closer to the window, looking toward a tall white spire in the city's northern district.

Pointing toward the building, the elf went on, "Do you see that tower there? It's the new Temple of Tyr. About three years ago, a crazed liche destroyed both their old church and our old guildhouse. Think about that; in a single day, in a matter of mere minutes, thousands of lives on both sides were just snuffed out." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Cerdan turned back to Tomar, "You weren't even in the city when that happened, so don't presume that either of side is the type to just toss away good men and women to fill the streets with blood. We aren't going to blindly attack anyone based on your whim alone."

The lieutenant gave no response, and simply stared forward as Cerdan walked around the desk toward the door.

Pausing at the exit, the elf turned slightly toward Tomar. "And in the future, please don't enter my office without knocking. Gives people the impression that you're a mannerless boor, you understand."

With that, the elf passed outside, leaving the door open. He knew that Tomar was becoming more and more daring over the past few weeks, making open moves against Cerdan in guild operations. If things kept progressing the way they were right now, guild life was certainly going to be much more interesting, to say the least.

(6:34 AM)

Norris and Horance were both crouched at the edge of a roof atop an abandoned east end shop, backs turned to the sun. Below on the city streets, civilians were beginning to emerge from their homes and circulate through the market stalls of the district. Norris squinted slightly, scanning the crowd across the street as he gripped his bow.

He glanced over the side at Shen, who was standing vigil at the entrance to the building they were perched upon. "So which one is the target? It'll be harder to shoot straight if this burning pain from my neck gets any worse."

Horance began weaving his hands in preparation for a spell. "Can't miss him. He frequents that tavern across the street from us. Apparently he's something of a dandy; look for someone with a light ponytail and a puffy dress shirt." The mage finished his spell and touched a finger to Norris' forehead.

Everything in the ranger's field of vision went white. Norris gasped and jumped to his feet, dropping the longbow. "My eyes! What have you done to me, you black demon!"

A hand grabbed him by the ear and yanked him down. Horance hissed, "Stop shouting, you'll attract attention. Your life is not forfeit just yet. Just hold still and focus while the spell takes effect."

Norris calmed his breathing slightly, and his vision gradually returned. As the world became lucid to him once more, he found that everything now bore a somewhat… _sharper_ edge. He could spot finer details on even the most distant faces and objects.

"It's an Eagle Eye spell, just in case the years have worn out your sight." Horance explained, "It should last for several hours, long enough to finish our tasks. Now look alive, our target is due to finish his morning meal any moment… Ah, that must be him now."

Snatching up his bow, Norris peered over the side and slipped an arrow against the notch at the middle of the bow shaft. Sure enough, a cleanly shaved, ponytailed man had emerged from the tavern, laughing heartily with a young, shapely blonde hooked on his arm.

Norris drew back his bowstring and held his breath, waiting for the bystanders in front of the couple to clear. An opening revealed itself among the crowd, and the ranger let his arrow fly free. Through the air the missile soared, striking home deep into the ponytailed man's gut, sending a spray of blood into the air.

Just as the wave of red liquid washed over the man's wound, a wave of cold shame fell over Norris. Long ago, before he'd even heard the name 'Cordas', Norris would have all but fainted at the terrible thing he'd just done. Now the only outward indication he gave was a slight tic at the side of his mouth. _Then again_, he thought bitterly, _that's the manner to be expected when one has lived so many years as a ranger without honour_.

"Nicely done, indeed!" crowed Horance, turning to Norris with a smile as the peasants on the street began screaming in every direction. "Now we'll go pick up Shen on our way out and be off to the temple."

"I want your word that I'll be given the antidote after that's done." Norris backed away from the roof's edge.

"Oh yes, of course. You will survive, so long as I live long enough to speak to Cordas of your services."

A black-tipped crossbow bolt suddenly interrupted their conversation, blasting its way through Horance's throat.

Norris was stunned for a moment, staring at Horance's bug-eyed expression that bordered on grotesque and comical. As Horance lifelessly collapsed, the fallen ranger's wits returned and Norris immediately ducked down behind the edge of the rooftop. Peeking over the side, he could see that the young blonde accompanying the target was still standing in the street below, and was reloading a bolt into the crossbow that was now in her hands.

"Damn my luck!" growled the fallen ranger. Ignoring his dead companion, he dashed away for the stairs at the side of the rooftop that would take him back down to the street. He rushed down a few steps, then jumped over the railing and turned to run in the opposite direction that the crossbow-wielding woman would be approaching from.

Before he made it far, a heavy fist struck him in the side of the face, knocking him against the brick wall. Looking up, Norris found himself under the narrow gaze of the foreign man that was also working for Horance.

"Shen, we need to move! Horance is dead, and–"

The easterner interrupted him with a string of angry words in a foreign tongue, and Norris rolled his eyes in frustration. Whatever he was saying, he didn't sound very happy that Norris had come down alone with several drops of Horance's blood staining the ranger's tunic.

"Halt there, you scum!" shouted a female voice from the end of the alley. Norris immediately shoved Shen aside as the blonde woman released another bolt. The shot whistled by overhead, and the ranger pushed the confused Kara-Tur warrior away into the alleys, hoping the woman wouldn't be daring enough to follow them.

Horance was dead. That single ever-present thought surfaced in his mind as Norris ran. Still, he had Shen with him, so there was still a remote chance that Cordas could be persuaded to hand over the antidote if they carried out the mission at the Temple of Tyr.

_Yes, that will work. I won't resign myself die today_, Norris thought to himself, desperately believing that his plan actually made sense.

(6:45 AM)

Cordas set his teacup on the desk as he finished his meal and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a silk napkin. Placing his utensils down, the old man slowly paced to the back of his office. While the walls of the room were bare, the floor was completely cluttered with boxes of artifacts from foreign cultures, most of which he had acquired personally through past ventures to the far corners of Faerun. He had everything from gnomish clockwork spiders to Myth Drannor puzzle boxes, all of which translated to several million gold pieces in value.

Yet these were all pieces of lost yesterdays, and therefore meaningless in his eyes. The only reason he bothered to keep them around was for practical purposes. After all, who had time to waste reminiscing about the past when the most important matters were those faced in the present?

At the rear corner stood an oval-shaped full-length mirror. Along the gold frame were a series of runic symbols, subtly concealed in intricate decorative patterns. Cordas fingered a particular sequence of runes, then placed his hand against the reflective glass. The spot on the mirror pane glowed for a moment, then slowly formed a ripple, extending outward as if a pebble had been tossed into a vertical pond.

Cordas removed his hand as an image appeared of a red-eyed man wearing rough, hide-like armour, replacing the crimelord's own reflection. The enchanted mirror pane had dissolved into a two-way portal between Baldur's Gate and his master's location. Cordas wasn't curious or foolish enough to ask where that was exactly, but he could see a shadowy cave interior behind his master, and felt a damp coldness coming in from the other side.

"My lord," said Cordas, "It pleases me greatly to inform you that three of my agents are underway and carrying out your will this very moment. The city will be at your mercy, and–"

The red-eyed man twitched slightly as an irritated look flashed across his face. "There is a new task that must be addressed. Send some of your enforcers to Lancam's Isle; we have another loose end that is to be severed…"

(6:52 AM)

"Guildmaster!" Cerdan glanced up from his desk as a panicked young thief appeared at his door, pointing a shaky finger down the hall. "Lieutenant Kretia has returned, and she needs you in the entry chamber right now!"

Concerned by the amount of fear in the boy's voice, the elf rose immediately and ran through the corridors, down a flight of steps toward the entrance of the guildhouse. When he arrived, he saw a blonde woman and several thieves gathered around a guild lieutenant Seffron, who was lying on the ground with a large, bloody arrow shaft sticking out of his stomach. Tomar was present as well, looking on with faint concern from the other side of the room.

Cerdan pointed to the boy that had summoned him. "Call for the healer. Make haste!" The elf then kneeled beside the ponytailed man, but didn't want to risk pulling out the arrow until the healer arrived. For now, he let a few of the more knowledgeable guild members tend to the man.

The elf addressed the blonde woman, "Kretia, what happened? Who shot Seffron?"

The guild lieutenant rubbed at her eyes, then reached over and applied pressure to the man's wound. "Seffron and I were coming out of the tavern just down the road when a sniper hit him from a building across the street. I managed to take down one of the killer's allies, but the archer fled into the backalleys."

"If we had more assassins out there, we wouldn't be facing this problem," muttered Tomar, head lowered as he leaned by the wall. "They've made an attempt on the life of a Shadow Thief lieutenant, no more than a stone's throw away from our own guildhouse. There can be no further denial, elf. Whether you'll admit it or not, the Shadow Thieves are now at war."

**(7:00 AM)**


	3. Back to the Basics

**Dramatis Personae **

_Criminal Insurgents _

_Cordas, Crimelord_

_Norris, Exiled Ranger_

_Shen, Kara-Tur Warrior_

_Shadow Thieves _

_Cerdan Engeven, Guildmaster_

_Tomar, Lieutenant _

_Kretia, Lieutenant_

_Seffron, Lieutenant_

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**Back to the Basics**

**(7:00 AM)**

"Have the arrow removed and the bleeding stopped," Cerdan instructed as he showed the guild healer to the place where Seffron lay. "But don't worry about repairing it completely; save your magic for any serious cases that come up today. Besides, I'll need his skills as quickly as possible, and we can't waste time once he's been stabilized."

The cleric of Mask nodded and moved to join Kretia at the patient's side. Cerdan looked on as several thieves helped them carefully lift Seffron onto a stretcher to be carried away. Shaking his head slightly, the guildmaster left them to do their work and walked back toward his office, knowing that he would have to give orders quickly if the guild were to respond to this new problem.

Tomar was leaning on the wall nearby and fell into step as the elf passed. "It is as I expected," said the lieutenant, "A guild war. With Seffron indisposed, you need someone to direct our scouts and thieves."

"Kretia can handle that."

"Kretia's become a sobbing wreck, and you know it."

As much as Cerdan hated to admit it, Tomar was right. In the past few weeks the guildmaster had noticed that Seffron and Kretia had been spending an unusual amount of time together, but he never thought Kretia had become so unbelievably fragile. Not a good sign at all for a lieutenant in charge of assassins.

"Fine, I'll grant you temporary command of our scouts for now. Order them on alert and have them fan out through the district." They reached Cerdan's office and paused outside the door as the elf continued, "If the would-be assassin is on foot, he won't be far. Get a description of the sniper from Kretia, and try to have him brought in alive; we still need to find out who is behind these attacks."

"At last," Tomar smiled and gave a half-hearted salute, relishing his new feeling of power as he went off to begin directing the guild scouts.

Cerdan sent one final uneasy glance at his lieutenant, then passed inside his office where a young sandy-haired boy waited in front of the desk.

"Bryn, what do you have for me?"

The kid glanced up and the elf noticed he was holding an unrolled parchment. Bryn quickly closed it up and held out the scroll. "A few of us local scouts took the liberty of searching the sniper's building when Seffron got shot. I found this on the body of the wizard that Kretia managed to kill."

Cerdan plucked the scroll away and, holding it on one end, unrolled it with a single shake of his wrist. The first half of the scroll's contents detailed the intended time and location for Seffron's assassination, as well as a brief description of his appearance. The second half, however, was far more disconcerting…

"They're planning a heist at the Temple of Tyr," noted Bryn.

Indeed, the elf was looking at a rough schematic of the temple layout, complete with several red 'x's marking potential points of entry and weak spots.

"Not only that," the elf added, reading the few lines at the very bottom of the scroll, "they're intent on turning the guild and the Church against each other. Though we still have a few hours, judging by what's written here."

"Then I suppose you'll be needing the services of your personal courier?" Bryn coughed and held out an open hand in a rather unsubtle way.

Cerdan sighed and fished a gold piece from his pocket, which he flipped to the boy. "Don't get greedy, lad, that's your pay for the entire week." He grabbed a quill and paper from his desk and penned a short message, then slipped it into an envelope. "I'll hang onto the sniper's scroll while you're off. Stick to the main roads and public areas; if you keep moving, you'll probably escape notice."

The elf took a stick of wax from the corner of his desk, held it out over a candle, and let several black drops fall onto the envelope flap before applying the seal to the letter. He let the sealed message air out for a moment, then handed it to Bryn. "Now make haste. You already know who to give this to."

(7:11)

The new Temple of Tyr was constructed as a tower on the opposite side of Baldur's Gate; a spire of twisting white stone standing comfortably in the clean, paved streets of the nobles' district, well away from the likes of the thieves and peasantry in the merchant quarter. The new architecture of the building seemed needlessly extravagant, particularly to one elven priestess who had been so used to the simple, unadorned accommodations of the original temple.

"Priestess!"

Selena blinked out of her thoughts and returned her attention to the young acolyte that had addressed her. "Yes, what is it now?"

The youth turned and pointed toward the other side of the room. "My sparring partner is refusing to continue his combat training!"

The priestess peered across the training chamber at the dozen or so acolytes who were all busily locked in mock combat with wooden maces and staves. All save one, who was daydreaming by the window ledge at the far end of the room.

For the most part, Selena's duties involved lecturing and teaching new, eager acolytes about the tenets of justice and faith in Tyr. The strength of justice through combat was one such tenet that trainees tended to be more engrossed in. Sadly, there was always one bad egg that was obviously drafted into church service grudgingly by his parents, and wouldn't let anyone forget it.

This particular bad egg's name was Villet. The priestess wouldn't forget that either, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Not again." Selena sighed and crossed the chamber toward the wayward acolyte. As she came closer, the priestess accidentally looked out the window and cringed as she saw just how high above the ground they were. Turning her head away with a wince, she spoke to the wayward youth, "Acolyte, you must continue your training if you wish to remain with the Order."

"Eh," he said, casually brushing some unseen nuisance off of his shoulder, "We do not need to know how to fight if we are going to become healers."

"Are you so certain of that?" The red-haired priestess sent a sharp stare down at the youth. Villet made a particularly bold gesture of turning and facing her directly, a look of disdain plain upon his face.

Selena let his audacious attitude slide for now as she went on, "Let me tell you something: Three years ago, when I was a simple cleric, I used to think like that. Then I nearly died because of my inability to fight. I didn't even know how to hold a mace properly, and I ended up poisoned and near death as a result of an enemy's blade. It was only through incredible luck that I survived, but I made certain that such a failure would never happen to me again."

She picked up Villet's wooden mace from the ground and held it out, "And it won't happen to you either. Keep training."

Muttering slightly, the youth took the weapon but made a show of doing it very slowly. Even after it was in his hands, he didn't turn away from the window. "Hey, look. There's a royal horseman at the tower gate."

Selena swallowed nervously, and couldn't bring herself to look out the window. The view from such a height tended to bring back unpleasant memories. "Yes, the High Prelate of Tyr is visiting from the city of Athkatla for an inspection of our temple, and the royal horsemen make up his personal entourage. All the more reason to return to your training, if he comes around looking for lazy acolytes."

The youth continued muttering under his breath, and uncaringly smacked the mace against the windowsill before he reluctantly returned to the training mats where his sparring partner was waiting impatiently.

(7:23)

Cerdan stepped over to the guild healer, who was now standing with Kretia and Tomar at the foot of Seffron's cot. The arrow was gone, and his wound had been cleaned and sealed, but the fallen lieutenant was still resting.

"I closed the wound," said the cleric of Mask, "but he lost much blood. If I were to heal him more fully, he'd be up and ready."

"No. Save your magic, we may need it later today," ordered Cerdan.

Kretia, her eyes moist and slightly red, turned on him, "How can you say that! He needs more healing now, or–"

"My orders stand. These attacks are only going to become worse as time progresses, and we need to conserve our resources." The elf knew that Kretia was the type that responded to strong direction, so he kept his tone stern as he turned to Tomar, "And you! Why are you still here? I gave you command of the scouts, now go command them!"

"I already issued their orders for now, Cerdan. Stay off my back."

The guildmaster shook his head and ran a finger over his brow, "We should be past this already. Both of you need to leave Seffron to recover on his own. You have to deal with the problem were facing here and now in the present."

Nodding her head reluctantly, Kretia looked away and said nothing.

"And what are you going to do? Put your feet up and pour yourself a drink while we do all the work?" asked Tomar.

"I have my own business matters to attend to, none of which is your concern. Try not to let the guildhouse be burned down by the time I return." The elf pulled his dark blue hood up over his head and made his way out.

Kretia waited until the guildmaster was gone before speaking, "He's changed. I remember when he used to be a flippant joker, flustering the old guildmaster with every second sentence."

"No, he's only changed toward _us_. Takes his job more seriously now that he answers for everything that goes on in this guildhouse. I hear he still acts like a fool halfwit around the ladies." Tomar then gestured at the guild healer and motioned for him to leave.

The lieutenants waited until they were alone, then Tomar remarked, "You're aware, of course, that he's been reducing our roles in the guild. I'm nothing more than a glorified message-boy, and we both know how he's been shrinking your assassin division."

Kretia looked down at Seffron as she spoke, "He believes there are more efficient ways to achieve goals than through murder. I'm sure he has his reasons…"

"You're willing to roll over for the elf's inability to lead us? He was never guildmaster material, you know. _I_ was supposed to get that position, if only I hadn't been out of town when the old guildmaster was killed."

"Cerdan knows that you resent both him and his position in the guild."

"Yes. But with the way things are progressing, I don't think I'll have to worry about him much longer."

(7:30)

Norris looked up and down the street, wondering which route would be faster. After he ended up taking several wrong dead-end turns in his search for the correct path to the temple, he found his sense of direction had become somewhat less reliable. Yet another former skill atrophied away, setting him back to the basics.

And even if they did manage to find the temple in time, Norris would have to hope that the contacts Horance was supposed to join up with would recognize them. Even now, the frustration of his situation was gnawing away at him. Or perhaps that was the buzzing pain coming from the back of his neck. Whatever that poison was doing, it didn't let him forget about the danger hanging over his life.

Of course, he could almost feel the waves of frustration coming from his Kara-Tur companion. Every few minutes, the warrior would jabber a few incoherent words, and Norris would simply grunt in response, point at the white tower in the distance, and hope that the easterner would be silent and continue to follow.

"Maybe if we cut through here," Norris said aloud, even though Shen couldn't understand him. He pointed down a north-running alleyway, and motioned for the warrior to follow.

"If there is anything in this world that bears the full weight of my hatred, it's your employer, Cordas," the ex-ranger continued, feeling the need to vent his anger before his head exploded. Shen gave no response. "I was content to live out the rest of my life in exile, but that wasn't enough for him. No, the old man even had to take my solitude from me. Have me dragged out of my house in the middle of the night and brought before him for some half-baked mission with a steel-jawed foreigner who can't understand even a single word I'm saying right now!"

Again, Shen gave no response.

"Damn thug. Why they didn't just send _you_ to chop up that ponytailed dandy, I'll never know."

Shen suddenly grabbed Norris by the arm, and the ranger spun about and instinctively raised an arm to strike the man. Then he noticed that the easterner was looking around the dark alleyway, narrowing his eyes at the shadows.

"What is it? Do you see something?" Norris squinted as well, but saw nothing but old garbage lining the walls. No, wait. The spell on his eyes made his vision sharp enough to make out a series of footprints in the mud that ended at the nearby trash heaps…

Several pieces of garbage were suddenly thrown aside, and three dagger-wielding vagabonds in dirty, tattered clothing emerged from behind the refuse piles.

"Well," snickered the tallest of the assailants, "A 'ponytailed dandy', huh? Sounds a lot like master Seffron, don't it?"

Another of the attackers flipped his dagger over in his hand as they advanced. "Aye, I'd say we've found the ones Tomar wanted for questioning. Look, that one's still carrying the bow."

Wasting no time listening to their continued banter, Shen unsheathed his blade in a fluid motion and leaped into the fray, spinning around in a whirlwind and forcing the thieves into defensive postures as they instinctively spread out around him.

"Don't stand together!" ordered the tallest opponent, "He's only one man, he can't take all three of us at once!"

For a moment, Norris was torn between moving forward to aid Shen, or fleeing to save his own life. The ex-ranger quickly came to a compromise and just stayed back, leaving the warrior to do the work.

With his long straight-edged katana, Shen continued to spin around in a circle, deflecting each of the dagger strikes in turn. Parry, parry, parry, and repeat. The three thieves quickly fell into the pattern, but none was fast enough to close in for a killing strike between blocks before the katana-wielder was facing them again.

Shen parried yet another thrusting attack, but this time he followed by ducking low and carrying his attack through in curve to the opposite direction, unexpectedly slashing the tallest of his attackers across the midsection. Wasting no time as the dead combatant dropped to the ground, Shen rolled forward behind the body and turned as he held his blade up horizontally, blocking the assailants behind him from making downward stabs with their daggers.

The warrior forcefully pushed up, knocking both their arms back, then swung his elbow around in a backward 'C', slashing each of them across the chest. The two enemies collapsed with blood running from their torsos, moaning in pain as they struggled to keep from curling up into fetal positions.

Wiping his weapon off on the dead thief, Shen stepped away from the fallen trio and bowed his head. He reversed his katana so that it was pointed down, and briefly touched the hilt of his blade to his forehead for a few seconds before opening his eyes and sheathing the weapon.

Norris swallowed uneasily as the blademaster returned. Shen babbled a few more indecipherable words, then gestured for Norris to lead on. No matter what the Kara-Turian said, the ranger now knew that his 'companion' could pose a terrible threat to his own safety. Most disturbing was the look of absolute serenity that he could see in every pore of the Kara-Tur warrior's face. Norris wondered if the warrior actually enjoyed the slaughter.

(7:43)

"That's enough training for now." Selena called to the acolytes, "You may have a ten minute break to clean up and prepare for this morning's prayer session."

There was a collective murmur of disappointment from the trainees as they hesitantly lowered their weapons and began to filter out of the sparring chambers. As they left, a cleric appeared at the entrance and waved to Selena, holding a brown envelope in his hand. The priestess straightened her yellow robes and motioned for the cleric to enter.

"Priestess Shademoor, a messenger arrived a short while ago and said that this letter was for you. I didn't want to disturb your training session, so I waited outside." The cleric passed her the envelope.

Selena turned it over in her hands and saw the black wax seal on the flap, adorned with the simple image of a three-pointed crown. The elf looked up at the cleric, "I've told you before. If anyone ever brings a message with this symbol on it, it is to be brought to me immediately." She walked with the cleric into the hallway. "So tell me, is it true that one of the Prelate's royal horsemen arrived earlier?"

"Mm, yes. I haven't been down yet to see what the reason is, but I doubt the Prelate's journey has been delayed. I went over the schedule myself, and we've all heard just how stringent he is on punctuality."

"Very well. Inform me if there are any new developments that require my attention." Selena excused herself and resigned to her private quarters.

Closing the door behind her, she went over to the lantern hanging from the ceiling, which served as the only light source in the windowless room. After pulling out the letter, she quickly broke the seal and took out the piece of paper within. The page was blank.

Reaching up, the elf opened the top of the lantern and held the blank page just over the flame within. Slowly, the transparent ink on the parchment began to react with the heat and smoke, and brown letters began to appear, burning themselves into the sheet.

The priestess quickly pulled the paper back and glanced over the contents. It was a short message bearing the following text: _Meet me at the usual place. And bring money. –C_.

Cerdan. Of all the days he could have possibly picked, it had to be on the day that she was giving three full lectures. Still, if he'd gone to the risk of contacting her, then it had to be important enough. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered to go to such lengths just to meet with a thief.

At one time, when she was of a stricter mindset, she would have had that man arrested and charged within a week. Now the best she could bring herself to do was glare at him and fold her arms menacingly. The elven woman tore up the note, then tossed the pieces back in the envelope and onto her desk to be disposed of later.

There was a knock on her door as she was replacing the lantern lid. The same cleric from before began speaking through the door, "Priestess? The royal horseman was an advance messenger, and he had a rather… unusual request from the High Prelate. Although I was originally supposed to be the one to guide the Prelate through the tower and city, the Prelate himself has ordered that _you_ be tasked with that responsibility."

"Me?" Selena pulled the door open and stared at the cleric, "But I have three lectures today… and a few other things to do."

The cleric held her hands wide, "I suppose I'll have to fill in for you. We can't defy the Prelate's orders. Be ready, he'll be arriving in a few hours around eleven."

Sighing to herself, the priestess nodded and waved her colleague away before closing her door. Selena ran a finger over her forehead as she turned around, and she noticed the remnants of the black wax seal on the envelope sitting atop her desk.

"Of all the days he could have picked…"

(7:54)

With Shen following from behind, Norris passed underneath a stone archway and was pleased to see that, after so many mistaken turns, he had finally found the entrance to the nobles' district of Baldur's Gate. The wealthier sections of the city were much easier to navigate than the rest of the city, due to the larger amount of funding for paved grid roads and more visible signs here.

"Now it won't take us very long to reach the Temple of Tyr." Norris remarked back at Shen, hoping that the warrior wouldn't start getting any sneaky ideas. "Though I wonder how we're going to find the rest of Cordas' goons."

As they made their way down the street, Norris noticed that most of the people walking by were either better dressed, or better cleaned than he and Shen. Feeling strangely out of place, Norris began to sweat a little as he noticed several inquisitive heads turning toward him as he passed. He carefully tugged on the back of his jerkin so that it covered up the bandage on his neck.

After a few minutes, he realized that the civilians were most likely staring at Shen, due to his unfamiliar garb and facial features. Norris relaxed somewhat, and saw that these people were just as quickly losing interest in them as they moved further into the district.

"So, I wonder what it is we're stealing from the temple, anyway?" Norris mused as they passed a side street, "It would have to be something fairly important if–"

"Halt, citizen!"

Norris' feet scraped slightly as he stopped, and a thin line of sweat formed on his brow once more. The word 'damn' started running through his mind repeatedly. Keeping his breathing in check and turning casually, he saw four fully armed men emerging from the side street, each wearing a glowering look on their face and the dark red uniform of the Baldur's Gate city guard.

"Er, yes, officers?" Norris asked innocently, darting his eyes toward Shen. He certainly hoped that the easterner was wise enough not to cause a scene in the middle of a public upper-class neighbourhood like this.

"You two look awfully out of place here," stated the lead guard, "What is your business in this district?"

"Ah, well you see…" the ex-ranger began, scratching his neck, "We're looking for some, uh, new shoes and–"

The guard sneered slightly, and it was obvious he didn't believe a word that was said. He spoke in a low voice to his comrades, "Men, take these two away and make sure they don't cause any commotion. I have reason to believe they're the ones we've been searching for."

**(8:00 AM)**


	4. One Way or Another

**One Way or Another**

**(8:00 AM)**

"Wait, stop!" shouted Norris, putting up a desperate struggle as a pair of guards pulled him into the alleyway. "Where are you taking me? I haven't done anything wrong!"

The exiled ranger's cries went unanswered as he and Shen were practically carried by the burly guards down toward one of the deeper sections of the district's backalleys, then unceremoniously shoved to the ground against the wall. The ranger winced as a shock of pain fired through his neck on impact. Shen immediately began to stand, but Norris quickly caught the warrior by the arm and forcefully yanked him back down.

As skilled as the easterner might be, Norris didn't know if he'd be able to defeat four well-armed city militiamen. The ranger wasn't ready to gamble away his own continued safety on such an uncertainty.

The most heavy-set of the guards, the one whose insignia marked him as a sergeant, folded his arms as he addressed Norris. "I heard you speaking quite openly out there about stealing something from the local temple. Not the smartest criminal type, are you? Maybe you'd like to go shout the plan from the rooftops? I think there are a few people in the district that didn't hear you."

"Uh, I was just making that up so that people listening would think I was a big-shot," Norris stammered, "None of what I said was actually true. No heist at all."

"Hmph." The guard shook his head in disgust, "I can't believe Cordas would hire such a thoughtless pair of ingrates. I was under the impression this mission was of utmost significance to him."

Norris blinked, wondering if he heard correctly. "Wait… what – do you work for Cordas?"

"Give the fool a copper, he's starting to figure it out," said the sergeant, prompting a slight chuckle from his comrades. "We're not city guards, idiot. These are our disguises for the heist."

Letting out a slight breath of relief, Norris began to stand, "Ah, I see. Well, then I guess we're all friends here after–"

The 'sergeant' suddenly punched Norris in the stomach, slamming the weaker man against the wall. Leaning close, the guard growled in the poisoned man's face, "You were supposed to be here with Horance. Where is he?"

Though he was still coughing from the blow, Norris managed to get out an answer. "He's dead, but I did kill that criminal over the east side of town like Cordas wanted." Although the exiled ranger didn't actually know if the ponytailed fellow perished from the wound, he was convinced that saying otherwise would shorten his life span considerably.

"Just as I feared," muttered the false guard, dropping a hand to the hilt of his sword. "Everything is going wrong. Your duty was to keep the wizard alive, fool. Without the documents he was carrying, we can't gain entry to their sub-level vault. Hells, we won't even be able to get past the front gates." He drew his sword and held it high, "And if we can't even finish the mission, we won't need you alive."

"Wait." One of the other fake guards held the leader's arm back. "Perhaps we should first inform Cordas of what has happened. He may have other resources that we could use."

The leader obviously wasn't pleased with this interruption, but didn't object. He slipped his blade back into its sheath and gestured at his henchmen, "Fine. We still have the magical artifact to contact him, but we'll need to find a large mirror for it to work." He kicked Norris's leg, "Get up, both of you. We're going for a little walk."

(8:09)

"Good to see you again, sir! How can I help you this fine morning?"

Cerdan smiled warmly at the florist, looking as natural as any other customer in the store. He glanced at the door, checking to make sure no one he knew was watching from outside. If his agents learned that he was buying flowers during a guild crisis, they might get the wrong idea. "I'd like to purchase a bouquet…"

"Let me guess sir," began the florist, leaning in with a knowing wink, "Meeting with another of your special lady-friends?"

"Sort of." Cerdan knew that if Selena were here, she wouldn't have taken too kindly at being referred to as his 'lady-friend' in any way.

The clerk raised an eyebrow slightly, but didn't follow up. Making the sale was all that mattered, and judging by the quality of the elf's cloak, this particular customer would be able to pay handsomely. "Ah. In any case, we have a recent shipment of long-stem roses from Cormyr, and–"

"Actually, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to buy the _least_ desirable brand of flowers that you carry in stock."

This time, the clerk's other eyebrow went up. "Er, if you insist, sir. Uh, I think the most unattractive product we carry is a flower called a 'stinkbloom'. It's actually considered a weed in some areas of the world due to the horrid stench it gives off when you crush one of the blossoms. We normally wouldn't sell it, but it wards off flies and larger insects; there's a high demand for it among butchers and refuse cleaners." He gestured around the shop at the other flora on display, "But I would instead recommend one of our more attractive varieties of–"

"Stinkbloom will do fine. Half a dozen, my good man." Cerdan grinned at the puzzled man as if everything was fine in the world.

Giving the elf one final confused look, the florist made his way toward the back room where the foul plants were presumably kept. "The richest ones always have the strangest habits…"

The elf pretended not to hear the clerk as he waited, carefully fingering a tightly sealed pouch attached to the side of his belt. If the temple was about to be invaded by the same group that was slaying his guild members, he knew that Selena and the rest of her fellow clergy were going to need a little outside help.

After a few minutes, the clerk returned holding at arm's length a bouquet of long, crusty, yellow-blossomed flowers. Even from across the room, Cerdan could smell the overwhelming stench from the flowers. The clerk, very eager to have the pungent plants removed from the main room, completed their transaction hurriedly and bid the elf a good day.

On his way out the door, Cerdan snapped the small pouch off of his belt and carefully hid it within the paper wrapping that was holding the flower stems in a bunch. Now that he had everything ready, the guildmaster decided it was time to head north toward his meeting with Selena.

As soon he stepped into the street, the elf noticed a group of four city guards coming from the opposite direction. Strangely enough, all were marching out of synch in unusually close formation. Stranger still was the fact that they appeared to be escorting two fully armed and unshackled prisoners; a skinny scruffy-haired fellow and an easterner. Either these guards were new recruits – which was unlikely due to the fact that they all appeared middle-aged – or they were pulling off some sort of show or scam.

Keeping his gait casual and his smile relaxed, Cerdan moved forward with confidence, even offering a nod and a salute to the guards as he passed. Thankfully, the only reaction he received was a slight nod in return from the lead guard, whose tunic bore the insignia of a sergeant.

As soon as they passed each other, the elf increased his pace. Whoever those 'guards' were, it wouldn't do Cerdan any service to waste his time investigating them when he already had enough items on his agenda for the day. Sending a quick glance over his shoulder, the elf saw with a touch of amusement that the party of guards was entering the florist's shop that he just left. Why they'd be escorting prisoners to such a place was beyond the elf's imagination.

Shaking the thought from his mind, Cerdan focused on the road ahead and made his way toward the meeting place.

(8:18)

The florist was opening a window to clear out the lingering stinkbloom odour when the door chimed and a quartet of guards entered his store.

"Er, yes officers? Is there something I can help you with?"

Ignoring the clerk, the 'sergeant' glanced around the shop and noticed something at the back of the room. Specifically, he was looking at a large, mirrored pane just below the skylight of the store. Evidently, the mirror was used to reflect sunlight toward the rows of potted plants growing on all sides of the room.

"Clear out the customers here," he whispered to his guards. The sergeant approached the clerk and gestured at Shen and Norris, who were standing uncomfortably by the door. "These two gentlemen tell me that you sold them a batch of illegal narcotics; some black lotuses, to be exact. We're going to have to ask you to wait in your back room as we conduct a search of the premises." He sniffed the air and made a disgusted face at the smell of stinkbloom flowers.

"What? That's preposterous!" shouted the clerk, "I'll have you know I carry only–"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," said the sergeant, grabbing the clerk by the arm as he pulled the man toward the rear of the store. Just as they disappeared from sight into the back room, the sergeant reached down and began to draw his sword…

Norris, meanwhile, was busy attempting to convey to Shen that these men were not city guards, but the warrior's fellow henchmen working for Cordas. None of the guards spoke the Kara-Turian's language, and none of them seemed particularly interested in gaining the warrior's trust either.

Apparently Norris was the only one truly concerned about the dangers that might result, should the blademaster mistakenly become hostile toward the guards.

After a few minutes the sergeant returned to the front of the store with an indifferent expression on his face, using a large leaf to clean a smear of blood from his blade. Seeing that the remaining customers had been shown out, he sheathed his weapon and stepped over to the mirror in the middle of the room. The false officer then reached into a pocket on the front of his tunic and removed a small gold circlet ornamented with several runes along the rim.

He adjusted the mirror on the ground so that it was nearly horizontal, and carefully laid the circlet upon the centre of the pane. The officers waited quietly for several moments, then the runes on the circlet began to flare on their own accord, and a water-like ripple extended from the circlet to the outer edges of the mirror, leaving behind a new image in the reflection. Even Norris and Shen noticed the magical effect, and they tentatively stepped closer to see what was happening.

The sergeant stood at the base of the mirror portal and peered down inside, hoping that Cordas was still in his office.

(8:23)

"It's interesting, really," Cordas said aloud, sunk deeply in his own line of thought, "that so much of a man's faith and willpower can ride on such a small trinket." He held a simple string necklace before his eyes, peering at the small stone-carved unicorn hanging on a tiny front hook. "Take that away, and where does it leave the man?"

The crimelord shrugged to himself and placed it over his neck. That white unicorn pendant, a symbol of the some forest goddess called Mielikki, was once the property of Norris before the ranger lost his honour. Now it was just another pretty bauble, hollow of any noble intrinsic meaning or depth. Cordas kept it as a reminder, not just for Norris, but for the crimelord himself; it reminded the old man of how deeply entwined a person can become with their possessions. And how vulnerable it leaves them.

"Sir? Are you there?" called a voice from the back corner of the office.

Cordas twisted around in his chair and saw that one of his henchmen had appeared in the face of the portal mirror. This particular henchman knew his place, and was patiently waiting on the other side of the portal, not daring to step into Cordas' office without permission.

The old man went over to the mirror. "Report. What have you brought me?"

"Ah, there is a slight complication, sir. You see, Horance…" The sergeant paused for a split second, "Horance lost the papers for entry to the temple of Tyr." The henchman swallowed, not willing to incur his master's wrath.

"I see." Cordas said, an edge coming into his voice, "I don't need to explain to you again just how imperative your mission is. I will deal with Horance later. For now, I order you to use whatever resources are at your disposal and find another way into the tower. You _must_ succeed in breaking into their vault, do you understand?"

"Yes sir." The sergeant gave a formal nod.

The old man was about to return to his chair, when he suddenly snapped his fingers and turned back toward the false guard. "Oh, there is one other thing. We've received word that there is a high-ranking Shadow Thief passing through somewhere in your vicinity. Stay vigilant for a male elf in a dark cloak, but don't pursue him until after you've dealt with the matter at the temple. Understood?"

"Of course, sir." The henchman gave an informal salute, then reached forward and plucked something off his side of the mirror to end the spell, causing the image to ripple and return to an ordinary reflection of Cordas' office.

_So_, Cordas thought to himself, _yet another complication arises. _He toyed at the unicorn necklace as he considered his next move. Reaching into a pocket, the old man brought out a gold pocket watch and checked the time.

He trusted that his first team of henchmen would gain entry to the tower in one way or another, but he had less confidence about the second team that he had sent out less than an hour ago. The second group was tasked with travelling to Lancam's Isle prison, off the coast of Baldur's Gate. No doubt they would be back on the mainland within a few hours, but he questioned whether the prisoner they were sent to retrieve would be found in time to appease Cordas' lord.

"So much riding on this quest for a few trinkets…" Cordas whispered to himself, hoping that everything would soon fall into place.

(8:28)

With a yellow hood keeping the sun from attacking her eyes, Selena glanced about the street one last time to make sure nobody was watching her. Holding her robe closed, the elf quickly darted into an alleyway behind a large domed building toward the place where Cerdan was supposed to meet with her.

This particular alley was a good place for secret meetings, as it was located directly behind the city's local mage's guild. Anyone attempting to magically scry in on a conversation here would receive nothing but interference from the magic emanating off the building.

Selena quietly paced down the alleyway, wondering if Cerdan was going to show up late as usual.

"Well now," said a low, raspy voice from the shadows, momentarily startling the priestess. "What do we 'ave 'ere?" A cowled figure emerged out of the darkness and blocked Selena's path. "Now what's a pretty dumplin' like yourself wanderin' alone in a dangerous place like this for, hey?"

Selena calmed down and gave the man an unimpressed look, "I know it's you, Cerdan. Now stop talking like that, you sound like a fool."

Tossing his hood back to reveal a mischievous smile, Cerdan switched back to his normal voice. "Guess you know me a little too well."

"Can we make this quick? I have more pressing duties to attend to today. What's this about, anyway?" She tapped her foot, "Do you have a tip for me? Some illegal trade going on today, or a non-guild thief making trouble for you?"

"Maybe I just wanted to see your pretty face." Cerdan grinned, then reached out and pretended to pinch her cheek.

Selena smacked his hand away, "Stop it. I resent that."

"You're right. Maybe you'd be prettier if you didn't have your hair wound up so tightly all the time," he said, pointing at her red hair tied up in a bun.

"I didn't come here to be mocked. Journeying here was a mistake; I have much better things to be doing. I'm going now."

"Okay, hold on there priestess." Catching her by the arm, Cerdan let the humourous twinge leave his voice. The red-haired woman let out a frustrated sigh, but didn't make an effort to leave.

The thief reached into his tunic and brought out Horance's scroll, which he then handed to Selena. "Take a look at this. Some time today, your temple will be attacked by a group that's trying to stir up trouble between my guild and the Church."

"I see." Selena quickly skimmed the orders, then rolled it up and placed it in an inner pocket on her robes. "Thank you for the information. We'll take the necessary precautions."

"I'm sure you will." Cerdan was sure that they wouldn't. "But before you rush off on that happy note, I'd appreciate it if you accepted this gift." He brought his other hand out from behind his back, revealing the bouquet of crusty, yellow flowers.

"Oh. How… thoughtful." she hesitantly accepted the 'gift', and carefully sniffed at the blossoms. Immediately, a disgusted expression materialized on her face and she instinctively recoiled, holding the bouquet away at arms length.

"You should probably put those in water as soon as you get the chance.," said Cerdan, smiling pleasantly.

Selena nearly threw the flowers to the ground, but she managed to hold her temper in check. "Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"No. You should _really_ put those in water as soon as you get back to the temple." Cerdan stopped grinning and emphasized every word, locking his eyes with hers until she gave a slow nod. The thief then leaned back against the wall as his smile popped up again, satisfied that she would do as he asked.

"Ugh, fine," she said, "Sometimes I wonder why I bother listening to you. You're not exactly the most trustworthy sort of person."

"Must be my eccentric charm and incredible good looks."

The priestess rolled her eyes, "Or maybe it's because the murder rate in your district has plummeted ever since you became guildmaster. In any case, be glad that I draw a distinction between 'justice' and 'law'. Otherwise you'd have spent the last three years behind bars, probably in one of the prisoner cells underneath our tower."

"Lucky me. I should really count my blessings some time," replied Cerdan.

"You should. There aren't many priests in the city that would stoop to aiding a lowly thief."

He put on another smirk. "Not even an extraordinarily handsome one?"

"Those tend to be the worst type of all."

"Ooh," Cerdan put a hand over his heart, "How cruel. Was that an insult? From _you_? Now I've heard everything."

"Indeed." Selena gave him the barest hint of a smile as she moved away, raising her hood as she returned to the street. "I'll leave you to recover your pride in private then. Contact me if you learn anything else."

Cerdan waved at her back and watched her walk away, waiting behind until she exited the alley. Then he brought a hand out from under his cloak, holding a small coin purse that he'd discreetly stolen from the priestess' belt during their conversation.

The thief gave it a little shake to make sure there were enough coins inside, then he smiled at his own quick fingers and hid the bag away in his pocket.

He knew that Selena might be a little upset… _if_ she ever realized she had been pickpocketed. But he also knew that she would forgive him, so long as he gave her a friendly smile and a smarmy one-liner the next time they met. And so long as she didn't find out what he was planning to use the money for.

"Ah, yes," he said to himself, his tone full of self-congratulatory praise, "If there's one thing I know in this world, it's women."

With a little bounce in his step, the guildmaster began his trip back to the merchant district of the city. The elf was confident that he was now ready to deal with whatever new problems might crop up, so long as he could rely on the talents of his subordinates. He reluctantly suppressed the grin from his face as he made his way out into the street; it wouldn't do well for any local guild scouts to see him smiling during a crisis.

(8:42)

Something wasn't adding up.

Tomar shuffled through the papers atop the guildmaster's desk, looking for something that might shed more light on Cerdan's whereabouts. Finding nothing, he then crouched down and began checking the desk drawers, one by one. As he expected, they were all locked tightly. They were even humming slightly, no doubt sealed with warding spells.

Whatever secrets lay within would remain unknown to the guild lieutenant.

"Just like the secrets that damned elf is hiding in that thin skull of his," Tomar grumbled as he went back to rummaging through the papers on top.

There was something increasingly odd about the elf's behaviour over the past few years. Perhaps Kretia was right. Maybe Cerdan really had changed in some way, and not for the better.

Tomar had just received word that three guild scouts had been found dead near the northwestern exit of the merchant's district. Last he heard, Cerdan had been travelling in that direction as well for some reason. Unwilling to accept those events as mere coincidence, the lieutenant knew he had to uncover whatever terrible thing the elf was hiding. All for the good of the guild, of course.

"Everyone has dark secrets in their past," he whispered aloud. "So why does nobody in the guild know anything about your life before you joined? What could you possibly be hiding, Cerdan?"

He pushed a few more papers aside, and a small black stone fell from the desk, clacking as it fell down on the floor. Tomar paused for a second; that clacking sound didn't come from the stone itself, it came from something beneath a stack of sheets on the desk. Lifting a stack out of the way, the lieutenant saw an identical black stone sitting by itself.

"Ah. Listening Stones," Tomar mumbled to himself. Two enchanted stones that magically echoed sound to each other, often used as eavesdropping devices.

As he bent down to retrieve the first stone, there was a sudden squeaking noise from the door. Tomar tucked the stone in his pocket and ducked down behind the desk as someone entered the office. Peeking below the desk, Tomar relaxed slightly as he saw a child's pair of feet walk in, moving toward the desk.

Tomar suddenly leaped up from his hiding place. "Hey you!" he shouted, prompting a slight yelp from the sandy-haired kid.

Immediately the boy turned and ran, but Tomar was faster, and managed to snatch the child by the ear as he entered the hallway outside. The lieutenant looked down at the kid's face, and recognized him as one of Seffron's new local-area scouts. Dryn, or Fryn, or something like that.

"Tell me, lad. Who are you, and what were you doing coming into the guildmaster's office, eh?"

The boy tilted his head at a weird angle, trying to get the lieutenant to release his ear. "I'm Bryn, I was just going to report in to Cerdan."

"And just why are you referring to the guildmaster by name, rather than rank?" Tomar narrowed his eyes, convinced that this boy might know something about the elf.

"Er, um… he's a real good friend of my dad! They used to go fishing together down by the bay. And this one time, they caught this really huge bass, but they didn't have a net, so they–"

"Stop babbling!" Tomar crouched down, still holding Bryn by the ear, and stared the boy in the eye. "You know, I've heard tell that one of the guild scouts was sent out to deliver an envelope to someone in the north part of the city just a short while ago. Would you happen to know about that?"

"Uh, what's an 'envelope'?" Bryn stammered.

Frowning to himself, the lieutenant briefly considered striking the boy, but quickly put aside that idea. He wasn't willing to go _that _far… yet. Instead, he released the child, and gestured down the hall.

"I'm going to let you go this time, boy. But know this: I won't stand for any insubordination in this guild. If you tell Cerdan about our little meeting here, you won't get off as easily as you did just now." With a stony gaze, Tomar watched as Bryn nodded and scurried away.

It was obvious that Bryn was going to squeal to Cerdan the first chance he got, Tomar knew that. That's why the lieutenant had discreetly planted the Listening Stone in one of the boy's pockets.

"I may not have passed the thieves' test," Tomar muttered to himself, "But I've picked up a trick or two over the years." He went back to the guildmaster's office to quietly retrieve the other Listening Stone, and to wait until Cerdan returned.

Something about all this wasn't adding up, but he was completely fixed on finding out what the elf was up to. One way or another, he was going to draw out the truth.

(8:50)

Norris and the rest of Cordas' goons trudged through the city's northern alleyways, grim and silent as they each wondered how exactly they were going to penetrate the temple of Tyr.

During the Sergeant's communiqué with Cordas, Norris picked up on the fact that Cordas was still uninformed that Horance was dead. No doubt the Sergeant was planning to leave that pleasant little task to Norris himself.

The exiled ranger quickened his pace a little so he could walk alongside the Sergeant at the front of the group. Cordas' henchman didn't even dignify Norris with a glance.

"How exactly are we going to get into the tower now?" asked the ranger, cocking his head toward the spire that was slowly looming closer, "As far as I know, they only let people inside on official business. People in need of healing to a separate building just outside the tower."

"Something will present itself," the Sergeant replied, "Something always does. Just be prepared to follow my orders."

"What will happen if we fail to break into their vault?"

"Then I will receive a scolding reprimand or two from my boss," said the henchman, giving Norris a dark smile, "While you will be dead."

"And if we succeed? Will I still be dead, or is there actually a measure of decency in black-hearted crooks like you?"

The Sergeant slowly began to clench and relax his fist, "Don't be so quick to condemn us for operating on the wrong side of society. I'd much rather be a loyal criminal than a traitor to my cause." He gave Norris a sly look.

Grimacing fiercely, the ranger knew that the man was making an underhanded jab at him.

"Yes, that's right," said the Sergeant, turning back to face the road, "Cordas told me all about your old deeds as a forest defender. It'd make a mighty fine series of bardic tales… except for that sudden bit at the end." The henchman made an elaborate show of stroking his chin, playing at a confused expression. "Tell me, I keep forgetting, how many people was it that died, exactly? Five thousand? Five hundred?"

"Just five," Norris murmured through grit teeth.

"Only five? A pittance. And yet, that seems to make it even more tragic, doesn't it? Five innocent souls that trusted you, were depending on you… and were buried because of you. I guess resurrections just don't come cheaply these days, do they?"

"Enough."

"Did you ever get around to informing their families? Then again, maybe they'd be better off in the dark. Wouldn't want to hear that the man their relatives trusted turned into a stone-cold murderer, hm?"

"Enough!" Norris lashed out, slamming the larger man against the wall, and used his forearm to pin the man's neck against the stone.

Immediately, two of the other henchmen appeared on either side of the ranger, and began to pull him back, raining their fists down on the back of Norris' head. Searing pain ran through the ranger's neck as the burning sensation from the poisonous wound intensified. The Sergeant shoved Norris away to the ground, and joined in by giving the ranger a swift kick to the mid-section.

The leader waved his fellow henchmen away before they did too much damage to the ranger. "Guess that's a tender spot for you, hm?" He crouched down beside Norris and spoke softly, "I may need you yet, so you'll remain alive for now.

"You want me to help you get that antidote from Cordas? Impress me. So far, all I've seen of you is a sniveling fool." Without another look, the man stood and slowly continued walking toward the temple. "So much for 'stone-cold murderer'."

The remaining henchmen, including Shen, resumed their pace as well, marching past the collapsed ranger in pursuit of their leader.

Norris felt nothing but pain. The burning feeling from his neck was becoming worse; whenever he moved, even the slightest turn of the head, it felt like his flesh was being scalded. But the worst pain came from seeing the five familiar faces in his mind's eye once more.

Five faces. He remembered their light expressions and eager looks from so many years ago. But that memory only further soured the ranger's mood when he thought of the last time he saw those same five faces: twisted, grey and lifeless as they lay upon the cold stone tablets in a dark morgue.

"Hurry up, ranger!" called one of the henchmen from further ahead.

Forcing himself to ignore as much of the pain as possible, Norris struggled up and leaned on one hand against the wall for a moment, breathing heavily. He glanced back over his shoulder for a moment, and winced at the pain.

Then he stopped and did a double take. His eyes were still affected by Horance's Eagle Eye spell, and he could spot a hooded woman walking down an alleyway far off in the distance, moving in the same direction as his own party. More importantly, plainly visible hanging from her neck was a simple shiny medallion, a holy symbol of Tyr.

"Wait!" he called to the henchmen, "I can see a cleric of Tyr coming this way!"

The false guards all turned to face the ranger and began squinting in the direction he was pointing. Whoever was approaching was certainly out of earshot, but that didn't stop one or two of the henchmen from whispering at Norris to shut up.

The Sergeant took a tiny spyglass out from a back pocket and peered down the alleyway through it. "Well, ranger. It seems you're good for something after all. Sharp pair of eyes can be an asset, indeed."

Norris remained silent, not willing to explain the truth about his temporarily enhanced vision.

"This gives me an idea on how we can get into the tower," said the Sergeant. He reached for his belt and removed a long knife, which he tossed to the ranger. "Go murder her."

"W-what!" Norris gaped. Sniping at a criminal from a distance was one thing. Slicing up a faithful of Tyr with a dirty knife was another level entirely. "But that's – why don't you send Shen to do it instead? He's much better suited for–"

"I can't speak with the easterner clearly enough to get my point across, and quite frankly I think you are much more expendable than he is." The Sergeant pointed to the knife in Norris' hand. "Now take that blade and kill her. Time to impress me."

Swallowing the lump that had just formed in his dry throat, Norris stared hard at the blade in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the yellow-robed follower of Tyr, still far off in the distance and apparently unaware of the party waiting for her ahead. Guilt was beginning to enter his heart once more, but the man knew he'd rather live in shame than die with a clear conscience.

"Sorry, miss," the ranger whispered under his breath, "Only one of us is going to outlive the day, and I don't plan on becoming nothing more than a forgotten corpse in this damned city." He reversed the blade so that it was pointed low for a downward stabbing, then held his arm slightly behind his back so the weapon couldn't be seen.

A solid frown etched on his face, the exiled ranger walked briskly back down the alley, ready to sacrifice another person's life to preserve his own.

**(9:00 AM)**


	5. Breaching Point

**Breaching Point**

**(9:00 AM)**

Too many things were weighing on Selena's mind as she made her way down the alley. First there was her unexpected assignment as the Prelate's guide. In the elf's mind, she was plotting out which route would be the most efficient path through the city. She was at the same time struggling to recall all the necessary steps of protocol that needed to be shown upon the Prelate's arrival.

Then there was the whole matter that Cerdan had just brought up. If there was going to be an attack, she could probably pass the information off to one of the other temple priests, but the issue would undoubtedly come up during her time with the Prelate.

Lastly, there was the terribly pungent bouquet of 'flowers' that she was still holding in one hand. It would probably take her hours to get the smell out of her hair and clothes, even if she did have time to change her robes. Although the priestess' better sense was telling her to dump the bouquet in one of the many piles of refuse she passed, she knew that Cerdan was trying to get some serious point across about putting them in water.

It was a wonder that her hair wasn't falling out with every thought that passed through her head.

A set of footsteps from up ahead roused the elf from her thinking, and she glanced up from the dirt road. There was a scruffy-haired man coming from the opposite end of the alley, his own eyes locked down on the path before him.

As they neared, Selena squinted slightly at the man's tunic. Several dark red splotches stained his shirt, and the pattern of the drops seemed angular, as if they had been splashed on the man from another person. The man's eyes darted toward her for a moment, then returned to the road when he noticed she was looking at him.

The elven woman felt moisture forming along her forehead. Swallowing, Selena held her robes closed tightly with one hand, and slowly let herself drift further toward the side wall, away from the man as she walked on. The stranger did the same, moving closer to Selena's side of the alley as he approached.

Selena's free hand disappeared into her robe, grasping the handle of her mace. She couldn't see a weapon on the man other than a gnarled wooden bow over his shoulder, but the elf was smart enough not to leave anything to chance.

"You there, please keep your distance!" she shouted, coming to a stop and spreading her footing slightly.

The man ignored the warning and actually began to walk faster toward her. Selena tossed the crusty bunch of flowers to the ground, then unhooked the mace from her belt and held it up. The stranger responded by raising out an unclean blade from behind his back.

The creep suddenly broke into a run and charged at her, swinging the knife around like a crazed killer. Selena immediately backpedaled, not expecting such wide, exaggerated swinging attacks. The lanky attacker was either an unskilled fighter or a madman. Either way, Selena was uncertain whether she'd be able to match him in terms of sheer strength.

Still, the elf wasn't willing to run away and leave the man to target the next wandering woman that passed by. She'd heard about killers like this one, the monsters of humankind.

As the man made another slash across the air with his blade, Selena countered by slamming her mace forward, cracking him across the forearm and trying to force him to drop the knife. Unfortunately, the blow wasn't strong enough, and only caused him to wince and growl at her.

The man suddenly flung himself forward at the elf, and when Selena tried to back up, she lost her footing when her heels knocked into a pile of garbage in the dirt. The priestess tripped and fell backward onto the trash heap, losing hold of her mace as she landed. The creep took another step closer, unsmiling and cold, then raised his knife over her to strike the final blow.

The elf tensed, ready to roll aside as soon as his arm came down.

"Halt there, you scoundrel!" A voice behind the knifeman declared. The man turned slightly toward the source of the voice, and a city guardsman charged by, tackling the creep to the ground. Two more guards appeared from the shadows as well, swords drawn and pointed down at the knife-wielder.

Selena glanced over at the first guardsman – a sergeant, judging by his uniform – and slowly rolled off the trash pile when she realized she had been saved. The officer punched the creep in the side of the neck, prompting an agonized scream from Selena's assailant.

"Miss, are you unharmed?" asked the sergeant, moving aside as the other two guards seized the screaming criminal by the arms.

Selena brushed herself off, then glanced around and retrieved her mace and the smelly bouquet of flowers. "Yes officer, I believe so, thanks to you. I'm glad fortune was on my side today."

"Indeed," said the sergeant, "This particular criminal has been eluding my men for a while, but I fear that we may be forced to let him go outside the city."

The elf stopped, halfway through the process of wiping the grimy dirt from the side of her robe. "What are you talking about? This monster should be imprisoned!"

"Yes, I know, miss. But I actually just came from the local barracks. We've received word that our local jails are all at completely full capacity. According to one of the city's new laws, any criminals captured during such a situation must be released to an area outside city jurisdiction."

"But that – that's just…" Selena's incredulous look drew a bead of sweat from the sergeant's brow. The elf couldn't recall ever hearing about such a ludicrous law, but then she didn't actually follow the bureaucratic fray of Baldur's Gate. And this sergeant seemed to know what he was talking about.

On the other hand, she couldn't stand the thought of such a monster being let loose on a technicality. Her eyes widened slightly as an idea came to the priestess. "Wait, what if I bring him to the temple of Tyr? We have a series of holding cells in the basement that we oversee independently of the city guard."

The sergeant grinned, bringing a crinkle to the side of his eyes, "A wise idea, cleric. But we would have to accompany you to ensure that he is – uh, properly detained."

Selena nodded and gestured down the alleyway for the guards to follow. If the tower were to be attacked, then it would help to have these officers present. After all, she thought, what could it hurt to grant these men entrance to the temple?

(9:12)

Standing before the mirror at the back of his office, Cordas glanced over his appearance one last time. After straightening the wrinkles out of his vest with a shot tug, he checked his pocket watch again. Time for another hourly report to Lord Pryus.

The old man touched the runic sequence on the mirror frame and waited several long moments before his lord appeared in the portal.

"Well?" demanded the red-eyed man, scratching uncomfortably at his neck.

"Both of my main teams are on their way to retrieving the artifacts you seek. Soon, my lord, the power of the twin amulets shall be in your grasp!"

Pryus growled slightly at the man's exaggerated grandeur, "Speak to me with facts, not puffy promises."

"Of course, sir." Cordas cast his eyes down and cleared his throat before speaking in a more neutral tone. "My personal enforcer, Tavros, is leading the team en route to Lancam's Isle and will likely arrive in an hour. The other team faced a slight setback concerning entry to the Tower of Tyr, but once they are inside they shouldn't have any difficulty finding success, I assure you."

Letting out another low rumbling noise that echoed through his cave, Lord Pryus narrowed his eyes. "I will not hold much patience for setbacks."

"Nothing of great concern, my lord. Some of my best men are on this mission; Horance, Shen, as well as a former agent of mine by the name of Norris."

A sneer twitched across the red-eyed man's face for an instant. Pryus shifted as if he was uncomfortable in his crimson hide armour. "I share none of your optimism. If this setback proves to be of consequence, we may have to intervene in your affairs directly."

"Whatever my lord sees fit," Cordas said, bowing his head curtly to hide his throat as he swallowed. Lord Pryus gave a simple nod and abruptly terminated the magical connection with a wave of his hand.

Cordas remained standing in place for a while, wondering just what kind of 'intervention' Pryus referred to. Taking a deep breath, the old man found it slightly more difficult to walk back to his desk, having more weighing on his shoulders than when he'd left it.

Things were beginning to slip out of his sphere of control, and that was the first sign that his own life was coming unsettlingly close to the peril's threshold.

(9:21)

Norris had enough sense to keep his mouth shut, but that didn't keep him from shooting a constant dark glare to the sergeant at his side. It wasn't just because the false officer neglected to tell Norris the whole plan. It was because the henchman was enjoying it too much.

"Keep moving, you low-born cur!" shouted the sergeant as he cuffed Norris on the back of the neck, further aggravating the ranger's painful wound. "Don't stop to admire the temple décor, get through those gates!"

Yes, far too much.

Grunting in reply, Norris lurched forward into the tower's main foyer, eyes squeezed shut in response to the blow. Although a small part of him was relieved that he didn't have to kill the priestess, another part of him was disappointed that he still hadn't proven himself to the sergeant.

At this rate, there was no way he'd be able to convince Cordas to hand over the antidote. If he'd only made a different choice so many years ago… but no, he didn't have time to lament over the past. Cordas was right; he had to start focusing on the present.

The temple's foyer was decorated with a dozen or so coloured tapestries along the walls, each standard bearing a different tenet of Tyr's faith in gold lettering. More prominent was the statue of Tyr the Even-Handed, towering above a large fountain at the centre of the room. It depicted the blind god as an elderly, muscled warrior with a war-hammer in his one hand and a golden brace covering the stump of his other wrist.

At first glance, the statue appeared to be glowing, but Norris quickly realized that it was simply the torchlight of the room being reflected off the statue's excessively polished surface. Norris couldn't help but wonder at the pretentiousness of it all.

When they approached the base of the fountain, the priestess signaled for them to halt and wait as she went to speak with a cleric who was pacing back and forth at the spiral staircase behind the statue of Tyr.

As she moved away, Norris took the opportunity to turn and address Cordas' henchmen, "Why are there only three of you? Where's Shen and the other goon?"

"Outside. Now shut up," whispered the sergeant, tilting his ear toward the elven woman.

"Priestess Shademoor!" called the cleric, "It's the High Prelate, he arrived while you were gone and he's been waiting upstairs for almost half an hour, and – by the gods, why do you smell so awful?"

The elf's eyes widened and Norris heard the sharp intake of breath, "What? But the Prelate wasn't supposed to –"

"Yes, I know he's several hours early, but he's still quite upset that you weren't here to receive him!"

"Fine," Selena muttered, and Norris could clearly hear the strain in her voice, "I won't have time to change now. I'll head straight to the Prelate's guestroom. Here." She then reached into her robes and took out a small scroll, which she handed to the priest guarding the stairs, "I've received word that the temple may be attacked. Study this schematic and place additional knights to guard the marked points of entry along the outer walls."

She then handed the bouquet of smelly flowers to the cleric. "And then take these to my chambers and leave them in water." As the cleric rushed off, eager to be rid of the pungent flowers, the elf called after her, "And leave my door open, air out the stench."

As the cleric took the scroll upstairs, Norris noticed that the false guards were beginning to shift uncomfortably. Even the sergeant seemed to stop breathing for a moment.

The red-haired priestess called to the false guards as she started up the steps. "Gentlemen, I must leave on pressing business. The temple's holding cells are two floors below ground level. Take the stairs and just report to the paladin on duty there." Without waiting another beat, the elf rushed up the remaining stairs and disappeared.

The sergeant smacked Norris on the neck, forcing the ranger to stumble several steps forward. "Get moving, Norris," he whispered, "The vault should be somewhere on the basement floor. It's time to get what we came for."

(9:30)

Selena checked her hair bun to ensure it was still formal and presentable, then straightened her posture and went down the hallway toward a heavy oaken door marked with a gold faceplate. She knocked on the Prelate's guestroom and waited patiently.

"Enter," called a rough voice from within.

The elf opened the door and saw an elderly gentleman moving to stand in the middle of the room. Although he appeared to be well into his seventies, his movements indicated that he was far from being frail or infirm. Every centimetre of his white robe seemed impeccably clean, with the only dark area on his person being the black glove on his left hand.

Selena knew that it was customary for followers of Tyr to wear one white and one black glove, which represented Tyr's amputated hand. She frowned inwardly that she had forgotten to put on her own gloves for this meeting.

The elf bowed low as soon as she stepped into the room. "High Prelate Saudere, it is an honour to have your presence grace us this day."

"If it is such an honour, then why have I been kept waiting in here for nearly an hour?" demanded Saudere.

Selena stood straight before the elderly man and set a passive smile on her face, "You have my humble apologies, Prelate. I was called away on an urgent matter concerning the safety of the temple, and we were not expecting your arrival until eleven."

The priestess nearly brought up the fact that she originally wasn't supposed to be his guide for the visit, but her better sense kept her tongue still. Complaining would be entirely unprofessional at a time like this.

Prelate Saudere loomed a few steps closer and examined Selena's attire with disappointment. "You look terribly unkempt. Is this what passes for formality in this city?" The elf remained silent as the Prelate shook his head and continued, "So… you are the ubiquitous Selena Shademoor. I've heard much about your deeds here. I am told you have a tendency to acquire all sorts of information on criminal activity that goes on in this city."

"Only in the pursuit of justice, sir." Selena noticed that a lump had formed in her throat. Did Saudere know about her contact with the thieves' guild? She knew such a fact would not improve her status if it were to be made public. "Is there something in particular you wish to inquire on?"

"Not at the moment," Saudere said with a dismissive wave, "I am curious, however, at what you would be able to tell me about one former Tormish paladin by the name of 'Treysen'."

"Treysen?" Selena was puzzled for a moment as she began to recall the details behind the name. "Uh, he was a traitorous knight who joined a conspiracy to destroy all of Baldur's Gate three years ago."

"And you had direct contact with him on the day he died."

"Well, yes sir. I uncovered his betrayal and he died when he tried to attack me shortly after. It was all detailed in the report I gave to the Church a few days after."

Saudere moved across the room to a chair on the other side of the room and sat down, folding his hands and staring at the elven priestess in muted disapproval for several long moments. Selena shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wondering what this was all about.

"I, however, do not believe a word of your accusations against Sir Treysen," said Saudere, his face lacking any emotion. "Do you know why?"

"Sir, those were not mere accusations, they were clearly–"

"I have examined the records of the incident, and I found that you were the _only_ person to make any such accusations. Every ounce of dishonour that has been heaped upon Sir Treysen's good name was based completely on your word alone. And I do not believe it." The Prelate's eyes drilled holes into Selena's confidence. "Nor am I wont to believe one who communes with thieves."

Selena felt a shock run through her heart, but kept her expression under control. If Saudere really knew something, they wouldn't be having this conversation. "I beg your pard–"

"Enough discussion. I am required to perform my inspection of this temple before moving on to my personal concerns. At least _some_ followers of Tyr take their duties seriously," he said with a glare. "Show me to the prayer hall."

"Ah, yes sir." Selena bowed her head and opened the door for the Prelate. This was not the reception Selena had expected at all. She sighed inwardly again as Saudere stepped out into the hallway. It was definitely going to be a long day.

(9:39)

Standing behind a wall in the temple basement, Norris briefly peeked around the corner at the circular vault door. He flicked his eyes over the large, steel vault that stood at the far side of the large hallway and made mental note of the paladins who were standing guard on either side.

Through the Eagle Eye spell, Norris could even identify details like the heavy scars on one paladin's face and the adornments on their weapons. Most importantly, however, was the barely visible cord that extended from a panel on the wall beside the knights and up into a tiny hole in the ceiling.

The ranger pulled his head back and turned to the sergeant and the other henchmen. "The vault is at the end of this hallway, about thirty metres away. Two armoured paladins with shields and broadswords stand on either side of the door. The one on the left looks battle-hardened; he should be taken out first."

The sergeant nodded and began to move around the corner, but Norris caught the man by the arm. Before the other false guards could react, Norris held up a hand and spoke, "But they also have a pull-cord hidden on the side wall. We won't be able to reach it in time, and they'll probably summon help if they tug on it."

"So what do you suggest?"

Norris reached behind his back and pulled his bow off his shoulder, "Give me the first shot, then the rest of you charge in and deal with the knights however you like."

Frowning heavily, the sergeant sent a glare at the skinny man, "Sharp eyed or not, I have yet to see if you're competent with a bow..."

"I can do this. Watch." Without waiting for the sergeant's permission, Norris prepared an arrow and stepped out around the corner. In an instant, he had his bow trained on the target, then let the missile fly. An instant later, the pull-cord snapped and part of it fell limply to the floor.

The ranger look back at the henchmen expectantly as the knights by the vault realized what had happened. The sergeant waved for his men to rush forward before pointing a sharp finger at Norris. "You have some audacity, ranger."

"Are you impressed yet?"

The sergeant ignored Norris' question and rushed forward to help his men against the paladins. "Keep watch on the exit, ranger!"

Norris nodded at the sergeant's back, then raised his bow and loosed a second arrow, this one whistling just past the sergeant's head and striking home directly into the face of one of the paladins. The sergeant froze in his place as he saw the knight collapse with a mask of blood, and he whirled about with an infuriated look on his own face. The ranger merely pointed at the second paladin and went behind the wall to monitor the exit.

Listening to the clanging of metal behind him, Norris wondered why there weren't more knights standing guard near the vault. "Their treasury must have some sort of magical protection…" he mumbled aloud.

No matter, he was certain that the sergeant had something that would penetrate the door. As much as Norris disliked working with these criminals, he shared no love for the temple faithful either.

_Just a bunch of greedy bastards, every one of them_, he thought to himself. _Preaching about good and justice in one moment and swiping 'donations' from you the next. If they were half as righteous as they claimed, they wouldn't put a price on peoples' lives._

"Ranger! Come here!" shouted the sergeant. Norris noticed that the sounds of combat had fallen silent, and he moved around the corner again to see that the young paladin lay dead on the floor with a heavy gash across his torso.

The leader gestured at the vault when Norris came close. "Try opening the door."

"Why? Is it going to blow up on me?"

"No, but you're still the most expendable person here."

Norris sneered and moved forward to examine the round vault door. Jutting out from the middle of the flat metallic circle was a large spoked wheel with a keyhole and three arcane symbols carved into the front. The ranger turned back toward Cordas' henchmen.

"I don't need to try it to know that it won't open. This symbol here on the wheel is a sealing ward; only a wizard can undo it. I don't recognize these other symbols, but I can tell that they're dangerous."

"One of them is a paralysis ward, the other is a rune of enfeeblement," said the sergeant with a disappointed look. "Too bad, I was hoping you'd end up wetting yourself where you stand."

Norris swallowed the insult and turned back to the vault. "So how do we open it now?"

"I have a solution," the sergeant replied, reaching into his pocket and removing the same golden circlet he'd used back at the flower shop. "The steel door looks reflective enough to serve as a mirror."

Stepping aside, Norris watched as the henchman placed the artifact on the shiny metallic door, just above the wheel. After a few seconds, a mirror-sized portal rippled into existence on the flat surface of the door and Norris could see into Cordas' office once more.

"I don't see how talking to the old man will help…" Norris stopped as he noticed the spoked wheel waver slightly upon the portal. Then he realized that the portal would only form on a flat surface… _behind_ the wheel lock.

Separated from the vault door by the portal, the wheel fell off and clunked loudly against the tile floor. The sergeant reached out and removed the golden circlet from the centre of the portal, and the magical gateway winked out of existence.

Now there was a large hole in the door where the lock once was. The sergeant gave a short tug on the edge of the hole, pulling the door open, and stepped into the vault. Norris moved to follow, but the two remaining henchmen seized the ranger by the arms, keeping him in place.

After a few moments, the sergeant shouted out from within the vault, "I have what we came for. Help yourselves to the treasure, boys!"

The man emerged from the vault holding a large iron box, and the two henchmen let go of Norris and eagerly raced past him to start filling their pockets with whatever loot lay within. Norris began to follow them, but the sergeant held up a hand at Norris, stopping the ranger.

"No. The only reward you'll receive from all this is your life. When I get this box back to Cordas," the sergeant held up the metal case in his hand, "I'll tell him that he can give you the antidote."

Norris relaxed and gave a grudging nod to the criminal, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The sergeant then unexpectedly shoved Norris squarely in the chest and the ranger tripped backward, landing directly on top of the warded wheel on the ground.

Immediately, every muscle in the ranger's body tensed up and then went limp, simultaneously affected by the weakening and paralytic spells upon the wheel. With his body drained of energy, the only parts Norris could move were his eyes, and this merely afforded him a view of the grey stone ceiling.

The sergeant approached and kneeled down, staring down at Norris' shifting eyes, "Unfortunately, Cordas won't be able to give you the antidote since you'll be locked up in one of the faithmongers' holding cells. But don't worry, you won't be there for long. After all, that poison will only take about, what, twenty hours before it kills you?"

Standing with a triumphant grin, the false guard nodded to his henchmen as Norris heard them march past. "So long, Norris. You've done well for a traitorous ranger."

With that said, the sergeant walked out of Norris' sight, and the ranger was alone once again. As he lay there, dying and immobile, the ranger could only glare at the ceiling, trying to kill the sergeant through sheer force of will.

_It seems fitting really,_ Norris thought, _that I should die in a temple of Tyr, just like my five old friends – my five former friends. Cordas should have a good laugh about all of this. _

In the silence of the hall, the ranger could hear only the pounding of his own heart, and felt only the pulsing of the wound on the back of his neck as the pain ever slowly became worse. Twenty hours of pain still remained. In all his life, Norris never would have believed that such a brief period of time could seem so devastatingly long.

(9:52)

Several floors above, the cleric holding the bouquet of stinkbloom flowers rushed into Priestess Shademoor's quarters. The young cleric grabbed an ewer from beside the priestess' wash basin and filled it halfway with clean water.

She then placed it down on the priestess' desk, pushing the open envelope out of the way. The cleric quickly tossed the bouquet inside, leaving the paper wrapping around the flower stems. Waving a hand in front of her nose to clear away the terrible smell, the cleric quickly made her way out, not wishing to spend another minute in the presence of the flowers.

As she was leaving, the water slowly began to soak into the tiny pouch that Cerdan had hidden in the bouquet. Within the pouch were several hundred small golden beads, and the water in the ewer was now moistening each one.

In seconds, a soft humming noise began to sound from within the pouch…

(9:55)

Striding quickly, the sergeant and his fellow henchmen hurried out through the tower's main foyer, eyes pointed toward the floor to avoid contact with the knights and clerics that were now patrolling the room. The sergeant wiped his brow, then put his hands in his pockets to muffle the sound of the jewelry and keep the objects from clinking against each other.

As they passed the fountain at the middle, the sergeant calmed down slightly and raised his head. Once they cleared the entryway gates, they probably wouldn't have any trouble leaving the temple grounds.

"Excuse me, gentlemen!" shouted a female voice from behind. The sergeant ignored her and kept walking.

A set of footsteps rushed up behind them, "Sir! Hold there."

Taking a slow breath, the sergeant came to a stop and wondered if the priests had already learned of their vault heist. He turned to face the cleric that had addressed him. "Yes, what is it? We're in a hurry, and can't stay for –"

"I was simply going to offer you gentlemen a protection spell. It can be dangerous out in the city, even for city officers like yourselves, and I thought you might like a little extra aid."

"Oh." The sergeant realized he had placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and he removed it quickly. "Very well, then."

The cleric closed her eyes and moved her hands rhythmically, casting a blue glow over the three false guards. "There you go, sir. This spell will protect you from physical blows for a few hours." Smiling pleasantly, she nodded to them and let them go on their way.

Smirking to himself, the sergeant and his fellow henchmen quickly left the building and returned to the city streets.

"Come, we need to round up the others. Then we'll see about finding another mirror so we can present our spoils to Cordas." The sergeant placed a hand against the iron box hidden underneath his tunic. "I'd say he'll be quite pleased with this special treasure…"

**(10:00 AM)**


	6. Lines in the Sand

**Lines in the Sand**

**(10:00 AM)**

A gong rang out from the back of the temple's prayer chamber, and the acolytes slowly began to stand and shuffle out of the room. Selena stood with Prelate Saudere off to the side of the room, watching the scene with disconnected interest. She deduced from their earlier conversation that the Prelate's visit was for more than just a routine inspection, but he hadn't been particularly forthcoming with details.

"As you can see, Prelate, our acolytes are subjected to rigorous training and discipline. We all take our duties very seriously here."

"Indeed," admitted Saudere, "I suppose these facilities are adequate; the inspection is passed." He began to walk toward the front of the chamber, past a series of windows. "However, my business in this city is not yet concluded."

Before following, Selena quickly grabbed a curtain rope hanging from the wall and gave it a short tug, drawing the drapes in front of the windows so she wouldn't be able to see the distant ground outside. She then hurried after the Prelate.

"You see," Saudere continued, "I have received word that a fugitive war criminal was sighted a few months ago in the city. Tell me," he paused and glanced over his shoulder, "are you familiar with the Battle of Caden's Hill?"

"Uh, yes sir. I recall learning about it back in –"

"It was one of the worst slaughters to ever occur in the past century. Close to fifty years ago, the Order of Tyr engaged in a war with a small kingdom of heathens occupying a forested area far to the north near Waterdeep."

"And our forces were led by a war-priest, I believe."

"Don't interrupt me, priestess. I fought in that war, you did not." Saudere gave her a short glare, then continued walking to the front of the prayer chamber. "We were commanded by one of the finest knights of the Order. A man who gave his life in the final battle at Caden's Hill, a brilliant leader by the name of Sir Adar Treysen."

Selena froze in her tracks when she heard the name.

"Yes, that's a familiar name to you, is it not? Adar was the grandfather of the paladin that you killed three years ago." Saudere stopped as they approached the marble altar of Tyr at the front of the room. "I was trained by Adar Treysen, and in turn I was the one who trained his grandson many years later."

The elven woman frowned slightly; so that was why Saudere was being so cold toward her. "Sir, I tell no lie when I say that I was acting in self-defense…"

"I care not." To Selena's ears, the Prelate's words lacked conviction. "As I said, I came here to arrest a war criminal, not you. The leader of the heathen forces was a warlord known only as 'Caden the Bloodletter'. The final battle of the war now bears his name; he was the one responsible for the murder of Sir Adar Treysen and countless other men, women, and children… on both sides of the conflict. I witnessed the bloodbath firsthand."

"Sir? I don't understand, why would he kill people on his own –"

"Enough. Speaking of Caden the Bloodletter puts a foul taste upon my lips, and I'll not taint the air with words of his deeds any more than necessary. Needless to say, though we were victorious in the end and successfully apprehended the warlord, he later escaped from captivity while en route to face trial in Waterdeep."

"And you've learned that this warlord is still alive and hiding somewhere in Baldur's Gate?"

Saudere nodded as he kneeled down before the altar, "Yes, and that is why I demanded an inspection of the temple's available weaponry and manpower. Tell me, are your paladins well trained and battle-ready?"

"Of course, Prelate. We have the most capable protectors in the city!"

At that moment, a young acolyte burst into the room, and rushed toward the pair. "Priestess Shademoor, Priestess Shademoor! The temple vault has been robbed, and the guardians were slain! We need you in the temple basement immediately!"

Saudere had his eyes closed and his head low, meditating before the altar. "So, Priestess… 'the most capable protectors in the city'? I wonder if the temple training is as effective as you claim."

Sighing quietly, Selena bowed and excused herself from the Prelate's presence, following the page toward the stairs. Things were becoming more grave by the hour…

(10:07)

"Five more of our thieves were found dead at scattered points throughout the district, lieutenant. All had stab wounds in the chest, and most appeared to have been taken by surprise."

Tomar frowned at the scout's report, then removed his hand from under his chin. "Order half of our reserve assassins to fan out through the district on active alert. If our men are going to die, they'll do so while fighting for the guild."

"But sir," said the scout, "without Lieutenant Kretia's approval, they won't –"

"Lie to them. I'll get her approval afterward, so long as the guild is still standing." Without waiting for another reply from the scout, Tomar moved onto the next order of business. "Has the guildmaster returned yet?"

"Yes sir, he arrived just a few minutes ago, and he's talking to one of the junior scouts outside his office."

"Good. Now be off and carry out your orders." Tomar immediately walked away as the scout gave a hasty salute to the lieutenant's back.

The lieutenant quickly found a dark, quiet alcove in the halls of the guild and reached into his pocket to remove a rolled up ball of cloth. The man slowly, deliberately peeled off the fabric layer by layer, being careful not to make any noise.

As the last piece of cloth came off, Tomar raised the Listening Stone up to his ear and held his breath, trying to hear the muffled voices sent by the stone's counterpart.

"…did you meet with the priestess of Tyr all right?" Through the boy's pocket, Bryn sounded slightly muffled.

Cerdan's voice was even more distant, and Tomar narrowed his eyes to a squint as if he believed it would help him hear. "Yes, thank you for delivering the message. I take it there were no difficulties in getting back safely?"

Tomar sneered. So it was true; the guildmaster was betraying information to the local paladins and clerics. No wonder the elf was so adamantly opposed to fighting them. No wonder he was so intent on reducing the guild's assassins to nothing.

"Well, no. But I did get caught by lieutenant Tomar when I found him snooping around your office."

The lieutenant heard Cerdan let out a snort and what sounded like a chuckle. "Don't worry. I keep all my important information up here." Tomar could almost see the elf pointing at his head, grinning smugly like a fool.

The guildmaster continued, "In any case, you're through for today, Bryn. Grab your stuff and head to one of our safehouses in the south end of the city. Oh, and on the way there, be sure to stop by my house and feed my cat Jinx for me."

"Wait a minute, I can still be of help to you!"

"No you can't, kid," said the elf, "A war _is _going to break out very soon, and I want you somewhere safe. I made a promise to your father that you'd walk away from this sort of life intact. He'd hunt me down if I failed to do that, and then I'd be forced to rough him up a bit, which wouldn't be very healthy for an old man like him."

"You're five times older than he is!"

"Details, details. This isn't something to argue about. Grab your stuff and take a hike, you're out for the time being." Cerdan's voice became much fainter, and Tomar guessed that the elf was walking away, bringing the conversation to a close.

So Cerdan knew more about the attacks on the guild than he was letting on. Tomar's frown slowly turned into a smirk. From all that he'd heard, he was now convinced that the elf was betraying them to the faithmongers.

Tomar stuffed the Listening Stone back into his pocket, then started toward Seffron's room. No doubt Kretia would still be there, drowning in her tears. But with her help, Tomar was certain they could come up with a strategy to save the guild from their wayward leader.

(10:15)

Cordas watched as the henchmen marched through the mirror portal until all five of them stood before him, leaving a trail of mud on his polished floor. He folded his arms and started tapping his foot. "Well? Have you recovered it?"

"We have it, sir. Just a moment." The sergeant reached through to the other side of the portal, feeling around the surface for some unseen object.

"Hold," said Cordas, "Don't remove the gold circlet just yet. Where are Horance and the ranger?"

The other henchmen, except for Shen, began to mumble and look away. The sergeant swallowed quickly, then removed his hand from the mirror portal and turned to face his employer. "Norris killed the wizard as we were leaving the temple. Don't worry. I left the ranger on the temple floor, but he won't be bothering you again, sir. Not with the poison working through his system."

An eyebrow raised slightly, and the crimelord stopped tapping his foot. "What do you mean by 'on the floor'? You killed him, didn't you? _Didn't you?_"

"I assumed that since he was dying anyway, it would be better to just let him suffer until –"

"For all your skills," began Cordas, keeping his tone neutral, "I must say you are truly an idiot. Norris knows enough to expose us to the Church of Tyr. Did you even think of that?"

Not knowing what to say, the sergeant reached into his tunic and brought out the iron box from the vault. "Er, we retrieved the artifact you wanted."

The old man snatched the box away from the henchman, but didn't break the harsh glare in his eyes. "You have indeed, and for that you will be granted a second chance. You will return to the Temple of Tyr and either finish off the ranger or bring him back here so _I _can finish him off for slaying Horance."

Bowing his head low, the sergeant said, "Understood, sir. Let's go, men, we're heading back."

"No. You must do this alone." Cordas said, "I'll not risk the rest of my agents rectifying your own error. You crossed a line and became sloppy, now go deal with the consequences by yourself. And please leave the golden circlet on the portal as you head back."

The sergeant kept his jaws locked and said nothing. _Good_, thought Cordas,_ the hound still knows his place_.

"Oh, and one other thing." The old man rose from his desk and stepped beside the sergeant, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "I want you to leave a special message for the knights of Tyr to find…"

The crimelord whispered one final order to the thug, then stepped back and motioned for the sergeant to proceed. After sending one last glance at the rest of the henchmen who were all staring at the floor, the sergeant turned and passed through the mirror, then moved off into the city streets.

Cordas waved to the remaining henchmen and ordered them to leave. As they eagerly filed out of the office, the old man barked a foreign syllable at Shen, prompting the easterner to remain behind.

The old man peeked inside the iron box to check its contents, then placed it down on his desk and began speaking in Shen's native tongue, "_I have another task for you to complete as well, before you may go."_

Cordas looked over at the open portal that remained in place on the mirror pane. Shen leaned close to hear what the crimelord had to say.

(10:23)

_Idiot_, Norris thought to himself,_ How could you possibly let yourself be taken in by another of Cordas' 'promises'? Never trust anyone, especially if you can't be trusted yourself._

The ranger raised his arms and shook the chains in frustration. The clerics were none too pleased when they found him sprawled out in front of the breached vault. At least they were kind enough to remove the paralysis spell from him. Of course, that was _after_ they had him bound and shackled in one of their holding cells.

Norris glanced up as the door opened with a loud creak, and in stepped elven priestess who granted them entry to the tower. Now the question remained as to how much he would tell them.

"You…" Selena whispered as she saw Norris sitting there on the ground, "I should have known that a monster like you would be responsible for this mess."

As much as Norris disliked these religious fanatics, he could see that there wasn't any way out of the cell without cooperating. "The guards who were with me – they set you up. You should be searching for them before they get too far. I have nothing against you or your people." The last bit was a lie, but she didn't need to know that.

"What are you comrades planning to do with the iron box they stole from the vault?"

"I don't know, but it was the main objective of the entire heist. I'm willing to lead you to my employer's hideout, if you'll release me."

She glowered, and it was obvious that she didn't believe him. "Release a villain like you? I think not. This is how it's going to work: You tell me the exact location of your co-conspirators' base, and we'll consider leniency when you go to trial."

"Wait, you don't understand. I have less than a day left to live. If I don't return –"

"Do not try to lead me on, knave." The elven woman backed up a few steps toward the door, "While you were paralyzed, one of our clerics cast a divination spell on you to determine your identity. We know all about your past crimes… ranger."

She folded her arms as she spoke down to him, "And now you plan to flee the moment you set foot outside. Just like the time when you abandoned those five people to die at our old temple. They suffered terribly painful deaths after you just left them here, you know. You never brought back the cure like you claimed, so we couldn't save them."

Fires appeared in his eyes as he jerked his head up at the woman. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me of that as if you know anything, you witch," he snarled, "It wasn't my fault, and I won't hear you try to foist blame upon me!"

"I'm wasting my time here. From what I can see, you're just another criminal trying to save his own black heart." She turned her back to the ranger, "I'm disappointed. I may have been willing to overlook your attempt on my life earlier, but now I see that you really are just another lawbreaking ingrate."

As the woman left the cell, Norris could hear the faint echo of Cordas' voice in his mind. _That's your problem… always looking back at what has happened before, but at the expense of the moment._

"I don't care." Norris muttered to himself, trying to keep his mind off the pain from his neck. "Can't believe I almost trusted the hollow promises of these people. Those glory-hound clerics already let me down once before. Never again will I make the mistake of trusting them. Never again."

(10:35)

Kretia was sitting at Seffron's bedside, still holding the unconscious man's hand as Tomar entered the room. She didn't look up as Tomar moved to stand just behind her, as if she feared that doing so would ruin her lover's chance at recovery.

Although Tomar didn't particularly care whether Seffron made a quick recovery or not, he knew that he was going to need as many allies in the guild as possible in order to get Cerdan out of the way.

"Is he going to be alright?" asked Tomar, feigning concern.

Kretia wiped at her eyes and nodded slightly. "The guild healer tells me he should be fine in a few hours."

"That's good. So when are you going to resume control of the guild's assassins?"

"I don't know if I'm up to it. Maybe I should just step back and leave it to Cerdan. He's proven himself a trustworthy enough leader over the years."

Bristling with contempt, Tomar stepped in front of the woman and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her grip on Seffron's hand. "The guildmaster is not as reliable as you think. I've learned that he was just now at a meeting with an official from the Church of Tyr."

Kretia looked startled, but she managed to stand, meeting Tomar's eyes. In an icy voice she said, "What are you speaking of?"

"The recent attacks on Seffron and the other members of our guild have been too well organized to be random strikes. Someone has been feeding information to our enemies, and I think Cerdan knows about it."

"You shouldn't be saying this. It is treasonous to openly conspire against our guildmaster, and –"

"It is treason to betray guild information to the bloody preachers!" Tomar shot back, "Who do you think leaked the whereabouts of your… meeting with Seffron this morning? Tell me this, who else besides you and Seffron knew about your little rendezvous?"

"…Cerdan. He knows everyone's movements."

Tomar let go of her shoulders and calmed down a little. "Ask yourself if you want to strike back at the people responsible for this," he said with a gesture toward Seffron. "Very soon, the lines in the sand will become boundaries. Make sure you and Seffron are on the right side."

With that, Tomar walked out of the room, leaving Kretia to stew in her thoughts. Things were finally beginning to take shape, and he knew that there was only one person in the entire guildhouse fit to seize Cerdan's position.

(10:43)

Up in the Tower of Tyr, a young acolyte was trying to lug a heavy bucket of soap and water through the hallways of the priests' quarters. Villet's arms felt like they were ready to tear apart at the bone, which might have been a welcome relief from his seemingly endless list of tiring chores.

"I hate this stupid place," he mumbled out loud, "No glory, no fun, and no sleep. Always 'go wash the windows, Villet' or 'go scrub the floors, Villet' or 'don't put a rat in my soup, Villet'. Wish I was out fishing."

He stopped as he noticed a door in the hall that had been unusually left wide open. Glancing up at the nameplate, he realized it was priestess Shademoor's room. "Stupid pointy-eared trainer." Peeking inside, he saw that the woman was gone, but heard an angry buzzing noise coming from somewhere within.

Other than the noise, the sheer stench of the room was what overwhelmed his senses, prompting a grumble from Villet as he realized he would have to clean up whatever mess the priestess had left behind for him.

He stepped inside, dragging the bucket behind him. The acolyte quickly found that both the smell and the sound were emanating from the ewer of disgusting flowers sitting atop her desk, making him wonder why elves always seemed to have the strangest taste in décor.

Puzzled by the sounds he was hearing, the boy lifted up a bunch of flowers by the stems to see what was making the noise. He pulled the damp paper wrapping away and a small pouch fell into the water. Peering closely, Villet saw that the side of the wet bag was ready to fall apart, and that there was something inside the pouch that was writhing around.

Before he could step back, the ewer tipped over and the wet pouch split open, spilling hundreds of tiny, vibrating golden beads out onto the desk.

Villet watched with rapt attention as the many beads, now fully exposed to the air, began to crack and hiss. After a few moments, a small winged insect popped out of one of the beads. The acolyte jumped away and saw that it looked like a shiny, gold-coloured bee. He watched in surprise as it zipped out the open door, as if repulsed by something in the room.

Immediately, a second golden bug hatched from one of the beads and flew out the door as well. Then more followed, and the flying insects began to come out in swarms, each one driven away from the room by the horrid stench of the stinkbloom flowers.

Screaming as the swarm zipped past his face, Villet threw an arm up over his eyes and ran from the room, knocking his bucket of soap and water all over the floor.

Paying no attention to the panicked acolyte, the golden bugs began spreading out in all directions as soon as they reached the hallway. Each individual insect carried the slight odour of stinkbloom, and was thus driven outward like a golden cloud, seeking refuge from the offensive stench.

(10:49)

Prelate Saudere was still kneeling before the altar of Tyr, deep in meditation. None of the clerics had been bold enough to enter the room while he was present, so he had the rare benefit of being able to pray in complete solitude.

_The priestess can't be trusted, but she will be key to my main investigation, _Saudere mused. _Before I can investigate her criminal ties, I must apprehend Caden the Bloodletter. But to do so, I may require divine assistance._

For a moment, he considered whether he should petition for intervening aid from Tyr. Perhaps it would be best to do so, as Saudere feared that some of the local paladins and clerics would place more faith in one of their own priestesses than their foreign superior.

Before he could think further on the subject, he heard a loud buzzing sound and something suddenly stung him in the back of the neck.

The High Prelate immediately leaped to his feet and smacked at the back of his neck, squashing whatever pest had attacked him. Wiping his neck off, he then brushed the filth from his hands, sending the golden insect remains to the floor.

As he gazed down at the insect's crushed gold-coloured wings, it reminded him of the crushed form of Adar Treysen's golden armour, so many years ago when the paladin fell at Caden's Hill. Saudere's hand clenched into a fist. Caden the Bloodletter was hiding somewhere in the shadows of Baldur's Gate, and the High Prelate would stop at nothing until the war criminal was dragged out into the light and executed for his crimes.

Yes, Saudere knew that he would need divine assistance for his mission in order to find the elusive criminal. He would never again let Caden slip through his fingers. The Prelate kneeled at the altar once more and chanting softly, praying for Tyr to send aid.

All the evil in this accursed city would be ferreted out and destroyed, and Prelate Saudere was prepared to pay any price to see this justice through.

(10:54)

Sitting upon the ocean's edge, among the craggy islands just offshore from the city mainland, stood one of the most unforgiving prisons of Baldur's Gate: Lancam's Isle.

Of all the places of incarceration, this one held the dubious honour of having the highest prisoner mortality rate in the city. In truth, it wasn't a place of imprisonment; it was a place that 'commuted' death sentence prisoners were sent to die slowly.

Tavros snorted as he took in his surroundings. The place didn't look that tough to him. In fact, as he stood at the front desk, he noted that the reception area seemed inordinately clean for such a supposed deathtrap. He looked over at the two henchmen that Cordas assigned to him and saw that they were similarly unimpressed.

"Ahem," said the guard at the desk, glancing over Tavros' company with a bored look. "Do you need something, sirs?"

Tavros drew a scroll from a bag at his side and placed it on the desk. "One of your prisoners has been granted a full pardon by one of the Dukes of Baldur's Gate. We are here to… escort him back to the mainland."

Unrolling the parchment, the guard gave the official orders a quick look before reaching over and smacking a small hammer against a brass bell fixed to the wall. "Just wait there, sirs, and we'll retrieve the prisoner for you."

The two henchmen behind Tavros began fidgeting uncomfortably, but their leader simply nodded and waited patiently. After a few moments, another guard arrived from down the hall.

The desk guard put the scroll down and said, "Time to make a trip up to Red level. Looks like one of the lifers got himself a release." He stood up and the guards started down the hall. "And get this: it's the Black Viper."

The second guard's eyes widened, but Tavros couldn't make out the man's response as they moved further away down the corridor.

Tavros turned his head as one of his henchmen tapped him on the shoulder. "Out of curiosity, sir, how come Cordas got his hands on such a real-looking set of orders?"

"Because it _is_ a real set of orders, straight from the Duke's office."

"Wh – but why would a Duke want to help Cord –"

Turning away, Tavros silenced the goon with an annoyed grunt. In truth, he didn't actually know how the orders were acquired, only that they were completely genuine. Perhaps Cordas had some ranking bureaucrat in his pocket.

Regardless, all that mattered to Tavros was getting the information they needed from the prisoner. After that, the ex-con was a peripheral concern. And if the prisoner became trouble, well, Tavros was confident that his three-to-one odds would support him in the end.

Besides, what serious problems could one shackled prisoner possibly cause?

**(11:00 AM)**


	7. The Hunt Begins

**Dramatis Personae**

_Criminal Insurgents_

_Cordas, Crimelord_

_Tavros, Henchman_

_The 'Sergeant', Disguised Henchman_

_Norris, Exiled Ranger_

_Shen, Kara-Tur Warrior_

_Shadow Thieves_

_Cerdan Engeven, Guildmaster_

_Tomar, Lieutenant_

_Kretia, Lieutenant_

_Seffron, Lieutenant_

_Church of Tyr_

_Galin Saudere, High Prelate_

_Selena Shademoor, Priestess_

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* * *

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**The Hunt Begins**

**(11:00 AM)**

Protector. Hero. Saviour.

Murderer. Criminal. Traitor.

Some of the best and worst labels that could be applied to a person… and every one had been bestowed upon Norris at some point in his lifetime. To collapse so far in a single life… at one time it would have been unthinkable. To have such a colourful past, yet such a bleak future in store for him.

Assuming he even outlived the day, of course. His poisonous wound was now constantly on his mind. The burning in his flesh had spread up his neck and along the back of his skull. Now it was difficult to turn his head without wincing.

He glanced down at the chains binding his wrists to the wall. For a moment, he again started to wonder if he should call the paladin guarding the cell and reveal everything the ranger knew about Cordas.

_No, wait, I've already gone over this, _he silently chastised himself. _Damn it all. I must be getting desperate_.

But desperate for what? Survival, of course, but Norris was lucid enough to know that he couldn't just go back to living like an exiled hermit. Not after everything Cordas had done to him.

Maybe that was why he bothered to go on living. It was a period of waiting… waiting for the day and the opportunity to bring his revenge down upon Cordas' head.

_So that's what I've been reduced to. Petty vengeance._ His lips curled downward as he stared in disgust at the sole shaft of light coming from the barred window in the door. If he was going to get back to Cordas' estate, he'd have to –

"Ow, blast it! What in blazes?" An insect had stung him on the side of the neck, just above the bandage. Guided by reaction, he swatted at the distraction, but this only aggravated the pain.

Hearing his cries, the paladin jailer appeared at the tiny window. This particular paladin was wearing much lighter armour than his brethren, since plate armour was no doubt reserved for honour guards and warrior knights. "What's the matter with you, knave?"

Norris looked up and sent a glare at the man. "I want to talk to the elf woman again. Call the priestess."

The paladin stared at the prisoner for a moment, then unlocked the cell door and went up to the man. "No, you'll tell me first." He tilted his head down. "I'll not summon the priestess down here just so you might spit in her face as a joke."

Norris sighed and nodded, then opened mouth to speak.

"Gah!" shouted the paladin as he suddenly pitched forward. He turned around slightly, clutching at something on the back of his neck.

Instinct took over. As the knight came within reach, Norris instantly threw his arms in an 'x' over the guard's head and yanked in, snaking the paladin around the neck with his chains. The ranger pulled tightly as if he was wrestling a bear, and held the chain in place to reduce the blood flow to the paladin's head.

While the knight's right hand scrabbled uselessly at his neck, his left flailed about wildly. But despite his efforts, his shoulder pauldron couldn't bend back far enough for him to grab Norris' arms. Instead of trying to push backward, as he should have, the dazed paladin foolishly attempted to run forward. In a short time his frantic movements became sluggish, and the knight slowly fell to his knees.

Norris kept his hold on the asphyxiated knight for a few seconds longer to ensure he was really out, then let go and let the unconscious body hit the floor. The ranger kneeled and grabbed the ring of keys on the paladin's belt, and began testing them one by one in the locks on his manacles. About halfway through the ring, Norris' perseverance was rewarded with a satisfying 'click', and in seconds he was freed from his constraints.

As he passed the unconscious paladin on his way out, Norris felt a pang of shame in his heart. But it wasn't guilt for assaulting the knight; it was the guilt that he nearly gave in to the bloody Tyr fanatics. He swore he wouldn't be so weak the next time someone had him down. That only lead to people exploiting him, as he'd painfully learned so many times before.

Norris peeked down the hall and saw that no one had come to investigate. Now all that remained was figuring out how to get past the guards on the upper levels.

(11:08)

In another prison, this one far away from the Temple of Tyr, two guards walked through one of the many labyrinthine corridors on Lancam's Isle. They were currently on Red level, one of the 'special' confinement zones in the prison.

As soon as they stepped into the cell wing, they could almost feel the years of hatred and malice emanating from the jagged stone walls of the place. They were glad that the prisoners were all kept out of sight behind sealed metal doors. The glares alone would have been liable to give them heart attacks.

"So, what's the story behind the prisoner we're releasing?" asked one of the guards, trying to break the looming silence, "I've only heard rumours about the Black Viper."

"I can tell you one thing: He's a survivor. Served for about three years so far, which is actually two years longer than the prisoners normally make it here."

The first guard nodded along. He knew that if the moldy bread and stale water didn't kill a prisoner, then the other inmates would. "But why was he sent up here to Red level?"

"Well, in his first month here, he fought and killed a total of nine other inmates, without ending up with anything worse than a broken bone. We would have hanged him, but each time was in self-defense." The guard wiped at his brow. "He also seemed slated on becoming something of a criminal boss around here, so we had to put him away in his own solitary cell before he gained any more influence among the other convicts."

"Is he really that dangerous?"

"Maybe he was. But I doubt he'll be as healthy after eating nothing but castoff bread for the past few years." They came to a stop at the prisoner's door. "And he's no youngster, either. Wouldn't be surprised if he breaks a hip on his way out."

The guards unlocked the door and stepped into the dusty cell. Standing at the centre of the room, fists punching at the air near the cell's window, was a grey-haired man with a disheveled beard and ragged clothing. It took the guards a few moments to realize the man was shadowboxing to stay in shape.

"Prisoner! By order of the Dukes of Baldur's Gate, you have been granted a full pardon for your crimes. You are to be escorted back to the city mainland within the hour."

Lowering his fists, Dace slowly turned a dark smile on the two guards but said nothing. In swift, precise movements he boldly strode past the guards into the hallway.

One of the guards remained behind in the cell as his companion followed the prisoner out. Although the inmate was now noticeably thinner than when he'd first arrived, the guard couldn't understand how he could still be so fit and energetic.

Dace suddenly called out from down the corridor in a solid voice, "I despised the food, but the birds and rats seemed to enjoy that moldy bread immensely."

Squinting at one corner of the cell, the guard's mouth fell open as he spotted the pile of bird and rat bones stacked neatly on the ground. Most had been completely picked clean of flesh and sinew.

The guard stuck his head out and stared down the corridor as Dace and the second guard vanished down the stairs. "That sly blackheart… they'll have their hands full with that one. Don't know what they could be thinking, loosing him on the world."

(11:15)

In one of the guildhouse hallways, Cerdan caught the resident cleric of Mask by the shoulder. "I've been looking for you. I'm told you've been dealing with a rising number of wounded thieves for the past few hours."

"Yes, sir," replied the cleric, "We've been getting reports that more attacks have been made against guild members, but I'll be hard-pressed to extend my healing to _all_ of them. There are only so many spells I can muster in a single day."

"Hm, yes. Well, I may have something to help you in that respect…" Cerdan reached behind his cloak and began to remove a bag from the side of his belt.

Before the elf could bring it out, they were interrupted by a voice from further up the hall. "Guildmaster!" shouted Tomar, hurrying up to them, "I demand to know what you were doing when you left the guild earlier."

Cerdan didn't bother looking away from the cleric and continued to untie the bag from his belt. "And why, praytell, should I answer someone who eavesdrops on my conversations?" The elf raised his free hand and tossed a wrapped piece of cloth to Tomar.

The lieutenant didn't need to open it to know that it was the Listening Stone he planted on Bryn earlier. "You've been consorting with the enemy, elf. Someone from the Church of Tyr, the very people responsible for the attacks we've faced today!"

The cleric of Mask widened his eyes, "Is this true?"

"The followers of Tyr aren't the type to assassinate people from the shadows. They tend to fight their enemies in the open streets, during broad daylight." Cerdan finally held up the bag of coins that he'd stolen from Selena, then handed it to the cleric. "And yes, I did meet with a follower of Tyr, but it was only to steal this sack of money."

"Preposterous," said Tomar, "Do you really expect me to believe that you met her just for a few coins?"

"No, because the money itself isn't important." Cerdan pointed at the bag as he addressed the cleric of Mask. "Those coins were very recently touched by a priestess of Tyr, so most will still have some trace of her essence on them. If you petition to the God of Thievery and offer up the stolen coins…"

"…then Mask may be able to steal some divine magic from the priestess who touched the coins," said the cleric, "And I'll have more healing spells at my disposal! Excellent thinking, sir."

"I still don't trust your motives, elf. Why did you not tell us about this before?"

"Have I made a mistake?" asked Cerdan, "I wasn't aware you were the leader of this guildhouse."

The lieutenant sneered, but backed down. "Very well, you've made your point. But I will be minding what you do for the rest of your time here. I still believe that you're keeping secrets from us, elf, so don't think I'll just keep rolling over like this."

As Tomar paced off, Cerdan smirked to himself and was content that the lieutenant wouldn't be bothering him any further. For a little while, at least. The elf dismissed the cleric of Mask and then made his way back to his office.

Closing the door and moving behind the desk, the guildmaster pushed his chair aside and pulled up a loose floorboard, revealing a stash of artifacts hidden beneath. The elf rummaged around for a while before removing a smooth, transparent crystal, shaped like a sphere that had been cut in half. Hundreds of tiny sparks of golden light could be seen dancing within the crystal.

He lay it flat atop his desk and stared down at the swarm of lights moving about. The golden insects he hid in the stinkbloom bouquet were from a rare collection of enchanted larvae, created to seek out and sting anyone they encountered. When a person was stung, the bug would leave a trail of magical energy behind, which then appeared in the transparent crystal as a golden wisp of light.

The artifact essentially provided Cerdan with a live map of where the lights were located, relative to the position of the crystal itself. Because all the golden bugs at the Temple of Tyr were currently close to each other, the lights in the crystal resembled a glowing, yellow clump.

The swarm itself didn't matter, of course. All he needed to do was keep track of the sparks of light that moved _away_ from the swarm. He knew that paladins and clerics always traveled in groups, and never too far from an assigned region. If the bugs managed to sting the people that broke into the temple, then it shouldn't be too difficult to pick them out as they fled the scene.

(11:23)

Norris anxiously stepped off the staircase and glanced around, only to find that a large squadron of knights and clerics were now milling about in the temple foyer. Although the ranger was now wearing the paladin jailer's ring mail armour, it was a few sizes too large and hung loosely on his form. He kept his head down, not just to hide his face, but to keep the helmet from wobbling around on his skull as he crossed the room. If any of the knights tried taking a close look at him…

As he passed the statue of Tyr, he heard one of the paladins complaining to a cleric. "I tell you, we must have a wasp nest nearby. Practically every man and woman under my command have been stung by one of those pests recently."

Not bothering to listen to the cleric's response, Norris continued to stride toward the gates and gave a quick salute to the men standing guard as he went past. He exhaled slowly as he walked out into the city streets, elated that he managed to get out unscathed.

"Sir!" yelled a female voice behind him, "Where are you going? Are you not assigned to prison-level duty?"

Both Norris' heartbeat and his pace quickened as he kept going, but the woman kept shouting after him. He suddenly broke into a run, tossing the helmet aside so that he could move without it smacking against the side of his head.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the elf woman from before was chasing him, accompanied by a pair of heavily armed knights. Outrunning the knights wouldn't be difficult since their weapons and plate armour were weighing them down. Eluding the priestess, however, would take cunning.

The ranger raced down the first alley he could find, and made a mad dash for the other end.

(11:27)

Selena skidded to a stop at the entrance to the alleyway and narrowed her eyes as she peered down the shadowed passage. The priestess unhooked her mace and rushed forward, nearly tripping on a large overturned barrel as she approached the very end. As she neared, the elf saw that the passage ended at a particularly high wooden fence, and that there was an empty boot caught at the top, still dangling on a loose nail.

The elf turned and motioned for the paladins to find another way around, "He climbed over to the other side! None of us can make it over, we'll have to go around."

The knights waited for the elf to join them, then hurried out of the alley to find another route.

(11:29)

As soon as the footsteps receded, Norris reached a hand over to the edge of the barrel and pulled himself out of the large container on the ground. He let out a sigh of relief that this sheltered alley was so dark, even near midday. The man stared up at his boot, hanging high on the fence, and wished for a moment that he hadn't tossed it up so high.

Walking with nothing but a sock on his left foot, the ranger approached the exit of the alley and glanced about. He knew that the priestess would be sending more knights to search the region very soon, so he had to get out of the district as quickly as possible.

He grabbed a wide, dirty blanket from a trash pile on the ground and wrapped it over his shoulders to conceal the armour he wore. As much as he disliked wearing the armour of a faithmonger, he had a feeling that he would need the extra protection when he went to face Cordas.

Norris stayed near the side of the street as he made his way south, hoping that he wouldn't encounter any more fanatics of Tyr. Every time he turned his head to glance around, a pain would shoot up through his spine. With the poison spreading through his system at this rate, he'd be hard pressed to win a fight.

(11:32)

The false sergeant wanted a good fight more than anything else. But no, instead Cordas wanted him to go and finish off a paralyzed fool who was likely going to die anyway. Not only that, but the old man had also ordered the sergeant to leave a message on the side of a building near the temple.

_So that's what I am,_ _a bloody messenger boy, _he thought to himself as he scratched a short sentence on the wall with a thick piece of charcoal.

The sergeant stepped back and tossed the charcoal aside as he finished. Three simple words were now drawn on the wall in huge black lettering, and he had absolutely no idea what they meant or why Cordas would even want them written here.

Before he could wonder further at Cordas' motives, the sergeant noticed someone in the corner of his eye, blocking one side of the alley.

"Vandalism? Hardly seems like a fitting job for a big-name crook like you." Norris still didn't have a left boot, which made it harder for him avoid the numerous mud puddles in the alley as he slowly backed away. He didn't appear to be carrying a weapon.

Not that it mattered, of course. The false sergeant knew he was both stronger and better at melee combat than the ranger. "You escaped from the Tyr-lovers. Was it resourcefulness or dumb luck? Either way, it saves me the trouble of having to break in again." He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Cordas wanted me to bring you in, but I'd rather have the satisfaction of killing you myself."

"In broad daylight? With a platoon of paladins fanning through the streets as we speak?" Norris continued to move back toward the alley's exit.

"Then I'll just have to make this quick." The sergeant reached down and picked up a long wooden object from the ground. When he raised it to bear, Norris realized it was the longbow that he had been using earlier. The ranger looked back over his shoulder, but saw that the end of the alley was too far away for him to take cover.

As the sergeant slipped an arrow alongside the bow shaft, Norris braced his footing and prepared to make a move toward the side of the alley. He knew his chances of dodging an arrow at full speed were slim, but the ranger wasn't ready to give up and let Cordas get away with his plans. The sergeant gave Norris a final triumphant smile and prepared to draw back the arrow.

A figure in tan-coloured clothing suddenly leaped down from the rooftop overlooking the alley, slamming two feet against the sergeant's shoulders and knocking the henchman to the ground. The impact knocked the arrow from the sergeant's grasp, and the missile flipped over through the air before landing in a puddle nearby.

Now more confused than ever, Norris moved back a step when he realized the newcomer was Shen. Why would the easterner be trying to save Norris' life?

When he touched the ground, the Kara-Tur warrior ran a few steps further to reduce his momentum, then spun about and drew his katana in the same motion. Sputtering dirt from his mouth, the sergeant staggered to his feet and fumbled for his sword as the easterner charged forward. Although the henchman was able to bring his sword all the way out of its scabbard, he couldn't angle it up fast enough and was forced on the defensive.

As he came within striking distance, Shen let his sword-arm trail out behind his body as he ran, then lashed out in a quick diagonal arc, batting the unprepared sergeant's weapon aside. Lacking both a confident grip and the space to wield it, the sergeant's sword fell from his grasp and he was forced back against the wall.

The easterner then followed through by pivoting his wrist and cutting horizontally against the henchman's midsection. The attack slashed open the man's outer tunic and armour, but his skin was oddly unharmed. Shen's eyebrows furrowed slightly, and the sergeant grinned as he remembered the cleric's spell was still in effect.

"I can't be harmed by weapons!" laughed the sergeant, and he brazenly grabbed at the blade of the surprised easterner's katana. Although Shen did not seem to understand the sergeant's words, it was obvious that his opponent was somehow immune to his blade.

Shen yanked his weapon away and went into a crouch, then swept his foot out in a half-circle, tripping the sergeant's at the legs. The larger man fell on his side, and Shen wasted no time as he took action. He kicked the stunned sergeant over onto his stomach, then braced a knee against the center of the henchman's back.

"What are you doing!" the sergeant managed to get out, "We're on the same si– mmblghh!"

The easterner was now holding his sword sideways, pressing the sergeant's head down in a large puddle of muddy water. Shen placed more pressure on the sergeant's back, forcing the air out of the man's lungs as his arms and legs started to splash about. To his credit, the sergeant managed to snag Shen by the arm, but didn't have enough leverage to do anything but tear off a good part of the easterner's sleeve.

Norris could only watch with isolated horror as the easterner continued to pin the drowning man in place for what seemed like an eternity. Soon the bubbles in the water ceased, limbs stopped flailing, and the easterner slowly eased off of the dead man.

The ranger tentatively came up beside the Kara-Tur swordsman and stared down at the sergeant's pathetic death pose in the mud. "I don't know why you chose to help me, but I want to say that –"

Without warning, Shen turned and slammed a fist into the side of Norris' neck. The sudden, painful blow sent the ranger sprawling in the mud, and the easterner quickly came over and planted a foot atop Norris' chest. The Kara-Turian snapped a few sharp foreign words and pointed his weapon at the ranger's neck.

A drop of mud fell from the tip and splashed on Norris' neck, and the ranger quickly spread his arms out, feeling for something he could use against his new opponent. His hand touched the arrow that the sergeant had dropped, and Norris immediately tightened his grip on the weapon and slammed it across, spearing the easterner in the lower leg.

Shen screamed and jumped backward, but he slipped in the mud and put his sword-arm out to brace himself against the wall. Fighting against the burning in his neck, Norris forced himself up and rushed at Shen, tackling the foreigner to the ground. As they fell, a golden circlet fell from within the easterner's clothing and landed nearby.

The katana fell from the warrior's hand, and Norris seized his opening by punching the warrior across the face. Driven by adrenaline and his own internal pain, the ranger pummeled the easterner several times more, then grabbed him by the hair and dashed his head against the wall.

When Norris finally let go, Shen appeared unconscious and a gash had opened in the Kara-Tur warrior's forehead. The ranger looked to the side and snatched up the warrior's katana from the mud.

"I expected it would come to this," Norris said to Shen's prone form, "You weren't quite as bad as the rest of Cordas' men, and not just because I couldn't understand a word you said. Still, you're just another goon working for my enemy."

He bent to retrieve the golden circlet from the ground, "At least you've provided me with the means to finally get my revenge on him."

Norris paused as he noticed something; a spot of green on the easterner's skin, beneath the tear in the shoulder of Shen's tunic. Upon examination, the ranger saw that it was the tip of a large gash running along the foreigner's left arm. The sides were covered in a crusty green substance… as if the wound had been made with a poisoned weapon.

The ranger suddenly remembered Cordas back at the crimelord's office, holding the two vials of antidote. _Two _vials.

Norris reached up and lightly touched the bandage around his neck. "So you're not just a hired blade… you're in the same spot as I am. Another dying man in a struggle to outlive this day, with no choice but to follow Cordas' whim." He shook his head as he recalled that Cordas had destroyed one of the antidote vials. "But one thing remains unchanged: only one of us can survive to see the next sunrise."

He glanced down at the katana in his hand, and wondered what he should do with the easterner. Looking over at the sergeant, lying dead in the nearby puddle, Norris sighed in disgust and planted the katana in the ground by the blade. He couldn't bring himself to slay the easterner like this. Shen was a dying, poisoned man, and no different than Norris himself.

"We're each going to fight Cordas in our own way," Norris said as he backed away toward the street. "One way or another, we'll do what we must. To the victor goes the prize." He took the golden circlet lying beside him, then turned and made his way out of the alley.

_Count your hours well, Cordas, _the ranger thought to himself, _I'm coming for you._

(11:48)

"The prisoner has already been cleaned and given civilian clothes, so he's ready to leave. I'll just need you to sign here, sir," said the prison guard as he pushed a form across the desk toward Tavros.

Tavros quickly marked an 'x' on the bottom line, constantly glancing over at the newly released prisoner. "Did you give him any of his old belongings?"

"Well, no. Anything he was carrying when he was brought here was either destroyed or pawned off. Not many inmates at this prison get pardons, you know. Is there something wrong, sir?"

"No. That's all." Tavros stepped away from the desk as a middle-aged man was brought forward to the trio of Cordas' henchman. Sure enough, the former prisoner face was now cleanly shaved, though his grey hair was still a little unkempt.

Tavros was completely unimpressed with the man they had been sent to retrieve, and he wondered if

Dace tugged at the sleeves of his black tunic, "I would have preferred my old leather armour, but I imagine they sold it off immediately after I was imprisoned here." The middle-aged man then turned his attention to Tavros. "To whom do I owe my gratitude?"

"Extend your wrists," said Tavros. He gestured to his two goons, and they closed in on either side of the assassin. Each thug held a silver arm bracer, which they held out for the ex-prisoner.

Dace darted his eyes at each man, but didn't resist as they placed the bracers on his forearms. When they were done, Tavros covered his mouth and mumbled a word behind his hand. The bracers instantly slammed together on their own accord, leaving Dace's arms bound together.

"Perhaps I do not owe any gratitude, after all," Dace muttered.

Tavros ignored the mercenary's words and nodded to his men. They shoved Dace forward, and began moving toward the exit of the prison so they could return to the docks where their boat was waiting.

When they were out of earshot of the prison guards, Tavros said, "You have knowledge and skills that my boss has need of. When we reach the city mainland, you will bring us to the location of some artifact called the 'Sigil of the Fallen'. You know where it is."

"Perhaps I do," said Dace, "In that case, I am prepared to negotiate the terms of this contract and how I will be paid for my services."

Tavros halted in mid-step and was almost ready to laugh as he stared incredulously at the mercenary. "Did prison spoil your taste for sanity? You have no choice in this matter; your newfound freedom comes at the expense of my boss, Cordas, and his associates. He _owns_ your life. If you think we're going to pay you with anything other than your continued survival, you are a complete fool."

In that moment, a dark wave passed over Dace's expression. The mercenary took a few steps forward and locked his eyes on Tavros. "So be it. I shall go along with all this, but only because I choose to, _not _because you think you have control over me."

"But I shall say this once," Dace continued, "There will come a time when you are unarmed and alone, and showing fear with every breath. I will have you at my mercy, and I will not hesitate to kill you swiftly and without remorse." He then moved past Tavros without another look. "Mind your mistakes."

Tavros sneered at the mercenary's audacity, and motioned for his men to follow closely. "Keep your crossbows ready," he dropped his voice to a low whisper, "and be prepared to kill him on my command. I don't want any surprises from this one."

All four criminals slowly started to make their way down the craggy path of Lancam's Isle toward the docks down below at the ocean's lip. Within the hour, they would be back on the mainland. Within the day, the Sigil of the Fallen would be in the worst possible hands.

(11:54)

High Prelate Saudere covered his nose as he followed the young page into the dimly lit alley. Why Priestess Shademoor would summon him here was beyond his knowledge, but he chose to come since he wanted to speak with her anyway.

He rubbed at the back of his neck. One of his royal horsemen just told him that almost every person in the Temple of Tyr had reported being stung by some sort of golden wasp. There was probably a nest somewhere inside the tower, and the Prelate considered ordering Priestess Shademoor to provide his men with better rooms.

The Prelate quickly threw that thought out of his mind as he remembered that he had more important issues to deal with.

"Prelate!" called the elven priestess, standing by what looked like a dead body draped in a white cloth, "We've found something you should look at. There was a –"

Saudere waved his hand around to fan away the smell, "As I already told you, I am here only to investigate the appearance of Caden the Bloodletter. There is no reason to involve me in this theft from your temple vault, unless you want me to further criticize the ineptitude of your knights."

Selena swallowed, but kept her frustration from appearing in her voice. "Sir, there was a message left on the wall here. Look there." She gestured to one of the knights standing nearby, and the knight raised a lantern high, warding off the shadows in the alleyway.

Staring at the black, charcoal lettering etched on the wall, Saudere felt his teeth grind together. "Who wrote this message?"

Pointing at the covered body on the ground, the elf spoke, "There was charcoal smudging on this corpse's fingertips. He wears the garb of a city guardsman, but we've spoken to several of the local officers, and they tell us that his uniform is a forgery." Selena looked Saudere in the eye, "I met this man earlier, and I am convinced that he was one of the people involved in the heist from the temple vault."

With a clenched fist, Saudere stepped closer to the message on the wall, never taking his eyes off the black graffiti. "I want you to find the people behind this."

"Yes sir, that is why I asked you to come here. There are two other sets of fresh footprints leading away from this alley, but both tracks disappeared when they entered the high traffic streets. I believe they were heading south, but my duty states that I cannot investigate or pursue them while I am bound to assist you on your visit, Prelate."

"Fine. I release you from my service for now. Use whatever avenues are at your disposal. Just find the people responsible, and find them quickly!"

Selena nodded and moved away to prepare for her investigation.

Moving over to the nearest knight, Saudere took the lantern and held it high so he could stare at the black letters on the stone wall. They were taunting him. Rage burned in his heart as he tightened his grip on the handle of the lantern. Never before would he have thought that three words, such simple words, could give rise to so much anger.

Those three words written on the wall in black, scarred capitals:

_REMEMBER CADEN'S HILL_.

**(12:00 PM)**


	8. Neutral Evil

**Neutral Evil**

**(12:00 PM)**

Cerdan picked a piece of straw off the collar of his cloak and gave the garment a good shake to remove the dust and dirt. He tossed the cloak over his shoulders and looked in the mirror to ensure that he was presentable. If he was going to be out scheming, he might as well look good while doing so.

As he was fastening the clasp, his office door creaked open. The elf flicked his eyes to the corner of the mirror so he could see the newcomer. "Kretia. Tell me, is Seffron faring any better?"

"Yes, I'm told he should be fine once he wakes up." The blonde woman noticed that there was a rucksack sitting atop Cerdan's desk. "Er, are you going somewhere?"

"The people who attacked Seffron are still out there. I've found a lead, but it's something I want to deal with personally. The attacks on the guild members are far more organized than I would expect. Whoever's behind this mess is well informed of our activity."

"That's the same thing Tomar told me," said Kretia, running a hand through her hair. "Well, it's probably for the best if you two put some space between yourselves. He's been going about all morning trying to turn our thieves and assassins against you. I find it most strange that he would do so during a crisis like the one we face today. Almost as if it had been pre-orchestrated…"

"Really." Cerdan shook his head. "I'm going to have to take harsher measures with him in the future. His little obsession with overthrowing me is becoming a serious problem around here. But I'll deal with that when the time comes. I trust you can handle guild matters while I'm out?"

"Of course, guildmaster. Just be careful out there." She fluttered her fingers slightly. "I wouldn't put too much trust in the other guild members right now. You'd better assume that anyone might have been swayed to Tomar's side."

The elf nodded and strapped a longsword to the side of his belt. "Right. Still, I have to deal with one crisis before I can single-handedly avert another. Try to keep close tabs on everything and everyone in the guildhouse while I'm gone. I have an odd feeling that I've been overlooking something." He paused to think for a moment, then shrugged and made his way for the door. "Be careful. Today feels just a tad more mutinous than usual..."

"Understood," Kretia said after he'd passed out the door. The woman took a breath and slowly exhaled as she stood by herself in the guildmaster's office. Now that she was alone, there were many things that still had to be dealt with.

(12:03)

"Ugh. This smell is going to haunt me for weeks," Selena muttered as she surveyed the mess in her chambers. Deep down, she knew that there had to be some unspoken reason for Cerdan's flowers. But for the life of her, she couldn't get past her frustration at being strung along like this.

The ewer had rolled off her desk and smashed on the floor, leaving the stinkbloom flowers in a soapy puddle on the ground. Stranger still were the hundreds of cracked golden bead husks that were strewn across the table and carpet. One of the acolytes would have their day's work cut out for them.

The priestess shook her head as she moved to her dresser, then changed out of her soiled outfit and into a lighter traveler's robe. Come to think of it, Cerdan definitely owed her an explanation for all this. And right now, he was probably her best lead for finding the people behind the vault heist.

Of course, it was hard to draw a straight answer out of him without getting a coy, flirtatious remark instead. Sometimes it seemed like he was really a half-wit, but Selena wondered if it was just an act; he was probably smarter than that. He'd have to be, or he would never have become leader of his guildhall.

"I never believed I'd ever find myself on a first-name basis with a thief," she said under her breath as she touched her holy symbol of Tyr against her forehead. The elf said a quick prayer for guidance, then paused and looked in her mirror as she let her hair down, hurriedly trying to brush out the streaks of mud and dirt.

She knew that Cerdan's guild was located at the far edge of the city's merchant district, but it wouldn't take her long to get there if she borrowed one of the paladins' horses. Of course, convincing the local thieves to let her see him was another matter altogether.

The priestess glanced down, then tucked her holy symbol away beneath the front of her robe, and gave her outfit a tug to clear the creases. Now it was time to finally get some answers.

(12:06)

Breathing slowly, Dace closed his eyes and leaned back against the edge of the boat, allowing the salty sea air to fill his sinuses. He'd become accustomed to the scent while languishing in the seaside prison, and wanted to enjoy the smell one last time before they reached the mainland.

"Why do they call you the 'Black Viper'?" Tavros suddenly demanded from the other end of the skiff, breaking the mercenary's concentration.

Dace shrugged but didn't open his eyes, "I would not know. The prisoners chose that name, not I. I prefer to avoid using aliases unless absolutely necessary… people tend to confuse your reputation if you go by too many names."

"What reputation? Before today, I'd never even heard of you, old man."

"That is because the boss that you mentioned – Cordas, I believe – is nothing but a small-change gangster. A sad little man who believes his tiny hill to be a mountain. Hardly the type to know of professionals like myself." Dace opened his eyes and stared across at Tavros. "I know of your employer's reputation. Does he still own that cheap whorehouse on Southside Row?"

Tavros suddenly jumped to his feet and closed in on the mercenary, roughly yanking Dace up by the collar. The two other goons cried out and clutched their oars tightly as the boat rocked violently from side to side.

"If you speak ill of my lord Cordas again, I'll throw you overboard myself!"

The mercenary's face revealed neither fear nor surprise. Dace was looking upon Tavros with disdain, as an adult would look upon a troublesome, misbehaving child. "And if you lay a hand upon me again, I will slowly cleave off each of your fingers before I finally kill you."

"Mighty words from a shackled old bag." Tavros let go, prodded mercenary in the chest, and knocked him back down into his seat. The henchman then returned to his own spot on the boat. "We'll see if your words live up to your abilities soon enough. For now, you'll lead us to wherever the Sigil of the Fallen is hidden."

Dace nodded and played along, knowing that the best he could do was to wait for a new opportunity to appear. "It is inside a wooden guard tower in the city's abandoned Old Quarter."

Tavros narrowed his eyes. "No one's entered that area for years. The rumors of a lingering plague virus left by Talonite assassins in the region –"

"Are whispers and lies, nothing more. Part of a city council strategy to devalue the poorer districts of Baldur's Gate," Dace replied with a smirk. "At least it keeps the riffraff out. That is where we must go, unless you would rather flee to your employer empty-handed."

With a deep frown, Tavros grumbled for several seconds in contemplation, but gave an assenting nod. Dace assumed that the man didn't want to appear reluctant in front of his goons. Foolish posturing, but at least Dace was another step closer to claiming freedom.

The mercenary leaned back and took in another deep breath of the salty air. An opportunity was waiting in the wings somewhere, and Dace was ready to seize it. After all, there was still so much to be done…

(12:15)

Cordas stared into the gilded mirror standing at the back corner of his office. The face looking back at him was everything he was not: young and unscarred, tinged with red flare, and burning with barely bridled rage.

"Have you anything worthwhile to report, or are you simply wasting both our time with this banter?" demanded Lord Pryus.

"Ah, we have made considerable progress in the hunt for the Sigils, and–"

"Then you have yet to acquire even _one_ of the twin amulets?"

Cordas shifted his weight from foot to foot and held up the iron box that the Sergeant stole from the Temple of Tyr.

Scratching at his neck and wincing in invitation, Pryus growled, "Unless that tithe includes the Sigils of the Fallen, I do not care for it."

"It's not the Sigil, my lord," said Cordas, eliciting a sneer from the man in the mirror portal. "But it is something that will help us acquire what you seek. You have my guarantee that no expense shall be forgone on the final part of this mission. I will personally lead my men in the last leg of the operation."

Pryus was looking down at his palm, alternately stretching his fingers and clenching a fist. "My sources tell me that you have an agent that has broken loose into the city. A ranger by the name of Norris."

"A former ranger, actually. And he is nothing to be concerned about."

"I question that. One of my associates will deal with him personally. _You_ should concern yourself with finishing what I ordered you to do," Pryus snorted and a wisp of grey smoke came from his nostrils, "Mark this: You now have until nightfall to acquire the Sigils. Remember to whom you owe all your riches and splendor."

"Of course, my lord," Cordas bowed low, and Pryus ended the communiqué. As soon as the image vanished, Cordas straightened up and punched the face of the mirror. The blow left no mark in the magical pane, and only caused the stand to wobble slightly.

The stinging pain that remained in the old man's knuckles forced Cordas to clutch his hand as he returned to his desk near the front of the room. "He thinks I am in debt over matters of my past," he said aloud, taking comfort in the sound of his own voice.

"But he doesn't know my frame of mind at all. I still have my freedom, and that's the only weapon I need." The crimelord leaned back in his chair and picked up a cup of tea from his lunch platter. "You'll receive your precious Sigils, Pryus. But don't expect the future to be the same as things are today."

Running a finger over the rim of his cup, the old man stared into his wavering reflection. The future, Cordas' future, was still his to shape. The crimelord's lip curled up as he took a sip of his tea. He knew that his lord was entrenched in the ways of the past, and that would be Pryus' downfall.

It didn't matter what anyone said. Cordas knew that he was in control of the present. In the end, he was confident that he would be ready for Pryus.

(12:25)

Giving casual nods to the thieves he passed in the hallway, Cerdan made his way toward the front of the guildhouse. As he neared the exit of the building, he could hear an argument going on just outside the door.

"Perhaps we should tell the guildmaster. The woman outside is pretty darn fixed on seeing him," said one of the junior guild agents.

"Pah," the second voice was Tomar's. "Or perhaps we should first take this woman around to the stables in the back and interrogate her; find out who she is and how she knows the location of our guildhouse. For all we know, she may be an assassin, here to strike a blow at the heart of our operations."

Cerdan rounded the corner and stepped outside, coming between the two of them. "I take it you have something to report?"

The younger thief nodded and pointed down the street at a robed, red-haired figure that was waiting just out of earshot beside a well-bred steed. "See that? This elf woman shows up just now, demanding that you come out to speak with her. But the lieutenant here thinks we should just give her the laugh and send her off."

"Ah, I was wondering when she would finally show up," Cerdan remarked as he squinted across the road at Selena. Moving past Tomar, the guildmaster added, "I'm going out for a while. Kretia's in charge until I return."

"What!" Tomar seized Cerdan by the shoulder and yanked the elf back a few steps, "Just like that, you're going with her? Who is that woman? And why are you so quick to leave this place?"

"You may have a hard time believing this," said the elf as he reached up and removed the lieutenant's hand, "but not every move I make has to pass through you for approval. Maybe that will change if you were to become guildmaster, but not now. Kretia will keep a tight leash on things, so don't become too distracted from today's attacks on the guild."

Cerdan turned and walked away from the guildhouse. "You've chosen a bad day to stage a coup. Try not to cause an internal guild war while I'm gone. We both have enough enemies already."

Hearing no reply from his lieutenant, the elf decided to take it as a sign of compliance. He quickly crossed over to the other side of the street where Selena was waiting for him.

Giving a short nod, the priestess then glanced across the road at Tomar. "You should know that the fellow behind you was making a rude hand gesture at your back."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Cerdan said with a smile and an offhand wave, "He's just jealous that I have so many lovely ladies rapping on my door for my company." He waited for an indignant reply of some sort, but Selena remained impassive. The thief shrugged, then grabbed his cloth hood and pulled it up over his head. "But what, praytell, is your pressing reason for coming here in person? A terribly big risk, I would think."

"You knew about the attack on our temple," Selena began, "Someone stole a rather important artifact from our main vault. Do you remember the Verskul incident, when your friend Derrick destroyed the liche atop the clock tower a few years ago?"

"Of course, how could I forget the day we first met? Ah, so many memories…" In truth, Cerdan remembered that when he first met Selena, he knocked her unconscious by clubbing her in the face with a wooden board. "Wait. There was an artifact the liche was using… a sigil of some sort, wasn't it? Derrick entrusted it to you for safekeeping…"

"Calm yourself, the Sigil is still stored in a sub-plane beyond our realm. The artifact that was stolen, however, is a special portal key. If it is brought to the top floor in the Tower of Tyr, the villains behind the robbery may gain access to the Sigil."

Selena continued, "I need any information you have on the people behind it." She turned and mounted her steed, then took the reins in her hands. "A name or location will do. Just tell me, and I will ensure that – what in Tyr's name are you doing!"

Grabbing Selena's arm for support, Cerdan pulled himself up and climbed onto the horse, squeezing in behind her. "Ah, good thing your knights use such large saddles. All that plate armour adds a good ten centimetres to the size of their rumps, I imagine. Shall we go?"

"Get off! You will not ride with me."

"Please, time is short. We're paying a visit to Southside Row. That's where our enemies are operating." Cerdan motioned for her to use the reins, "Come now, haven't you ever ridden a war-horse before?"

The rogue smiled pleasantly as Selena gaped over her shoulder at him in apparent disbelief. "What? I have questions to ask first. Just slow down and tell –"

Cerdan reached around her and gave the reins a shake to get the horse moving. "Sorry, no slowing down. Not the time to be squeamish, priestess. Something much grander is in the works right now. By the way, it's nice that you let your hair down, but I must say you smell absolutely terrible."

"That's another thing; what were those accursed flowers for? No, wait, don't try to throw me off topic. If we're going into the city's southern district, I'll first need to inform the Temple of Tyr so they can send a squadron of knights as protection."

"A bad idea. Our enemy is well informed – I'm not taking any chances with your colleagues or mine; someone is bound to tip off our targets if we don't tackle the matter this instant, and quietly too." He leaned forward slightly, "Besides, aren't you enjoying this little private time together?"

"You're appalling. How do you know all this, anyway? And what's your stake?" she asked.

The guildmaster ignored her questions and instead reached into his tunic pocket to quietly check the tracking crystal while Selena's head was turned away. "He's definitely heading south. Focus on the road while you're riding, please."

"Just watch where you put your hands," sighed the priestess. She didn't bother pressing further, which told Cerdan that she was most likely fed up with his cockiness and lack of forthcoming information. Satisfied that she would go along with him, albeit grudgingly, the thief looked toward the west and squinted at the city clock tower in the distance.

It was currently past noon, which gave him at least six hours to deal with this mess before a new one cropped up at the guildhouse. If Tomar were serious about his play for power, he'd probably wait until nightfall to start the takeover. The best uprisings always occurred overnight.

(12:29)

The Old Quarter of the Baldur's Gate was located down in the worst corner of town, stuck downstream from the rest of the city. As such, it was where the rest of the city's river-filth ended up. As Dace walked through the narrow streets alongside Tavros and the two goons, he saw that the place was still the very picture of decay and destitution. Even the buildings, brown and crumbling, looked like they were sick and dying from disease.

In some ways, it was even worse than the dreaded Southside Row. At least the Row still had an active and mostly healthy criminal populace. The only residents of the filth-ridden Old Quarter were either insane or diseased beyond relief. Usually both.

Fortunately, people in the Old Quarter were few and far between. Probably only a handful of souls ever dared to survive in the district, which was the main reason that Dace chose this place to hide his stash.

"It is less than a block from here. But you may find it difficult to enter the building. I set up the traps myself," said Dace.

"Just shut up and keep moving," Tavros replied. The leader covered his nose as he sneezed, then called out to one of the goons in front of them, who was scouting out the area ahead. "He says we're getting close, keep your crossbow ready!"

The goon nodded back and hefted his weapon with a grin, then returned his attention to the road ahead. As soon as he did this, the goon's head suddenly snapped to the side. His body collapsed to the ground, falling limply on his side.

The three others halted immediately and began glancing about for enemies. Narrowing his eyes forward, Dace saw a large amount of blood seeping from the side of the dead henchman's head, but no arrow or quarrel was visible.

_Probably a shot from a sling stone, then, _Dace thought, _but that would mean we've been attacked by…_

He stared down at his wrists, then quickly dismissed the idea of fighting when his forearms were braced together by steel. Instead, the mercenary dashed off to the side of the street, vanishing out of sight down a dark passageway between the buildings.

(12:31)

Before Tavros could move to prevent the mercenary from escaping, something sliced through the air near Tavros' ear, and a bullet stone stuck into the ground behind him, prompting him to stay in place. Tavros' remaining goon immediately raised his crossbow and released a return shot at a nearby building. An instant later, they saw a body draped in green robes fall from a building rooftop nearby.

Two more figures in green emerged from an alleyway down the street, neither carrying a weapon in their hands. That probably meant they were spellcasters, able to summon up their own magical weapons.

One of the figures had robes that were a much darker shade of green than the others, presumably identifying him as the leader of his little band of madmen, "Interlopers! You have violated our territory, and must fall before the venomous might of Talona's faithful!"

Tavros growled, "Great… fanatics." He twisted his head toward his crossbow-wielding goon, "Take out the leader; I'll deal with his comrade."

Hefting his broadsword, Tavros charged forward, keeping his head lowered so any bullet stones would strike his steel helmet, rather than his face. Before the henchman could enter striking distance, the Talonite raised his arms and activated a spell.

A translucent tendril of red energy fired from the fanatic's palm, lashing out and striking Tavros along the face like a whip. When it made contact, Tavros was overcome with a wave of dizziness, as though gravity had been up-ended. His lack of equilibrium threw him off balance, and the man fell on his side, unable to do anything except flail his arms and legs around.

Staring up at his foe, Tavros saw the green-robed fanatic raise an arm, preparing for a second lashing.

"Bastard…" Tavros whispered, immediately regretting that he wasn't smart enough to come up with more eloquent last words.

But before the Talonite could strike with his weapon, a 'twang' sounded from behind and a crossbow bolt slammed into the fanatic's chest. The enemy immediately clutched at his wound with both hands, apparently forgetting about the crimson tendril attached to his palm. The magical whip lashed upward across the fanatic's own neck, and he soon joined Tavros in his useless flailing on the ground.

Tavros managed to roll over, providing him with a view of his crossbow-wielding ally. Having fired his only loaded shot, the goon had given the Talonite leader an opportunity to close in to striking range. The goon dropped his missile weapon and was now swinging about a short blade, trying to ward off the fanatic's approach.

The green-robed Talonite leaned from side to side, letting the goon's sword swipe by at the air. After the third miss, the fanatic struck his hand out, grasping the goon by the bare wrist. The fanatic leader uttered an arcane syllable, and Tavros heard a crackling noise echo through the air as a visible spark of electricity ran down the henchman's wrist and over his body.

Tavros saw his henchman's eyes roll up, and the Talonite finally released the man, allowing him to fall to the ground like an iron weight. The goon's chest was still moving, but he certainly wouldn't be coming around any time soon.

The Talonite glanced over at Tavros and smirked, then slowly pacing over and crouched beside the criminal.

"Your presence here shows great disrespect to the Poison Mistress." The fanatic raised a finger to his lips and licked his pointed fingernail. With a look of absolute concentration embedded in his eyes, the cultist then grabbed the side of Tavros' head and used his sharp nail to scratch a short pattern in the middle of the man's forehead.

"Nnggh!" Tavros tried to turn away, but the cultist held him steady, and the henchman could feel blood seeping down his face through the pain.

When he was finished, the fanatic chanted a short spell and removed his hands from Tavros' head. "Soon you will understand what it means to incur the wrath of Talona."

Before Tavros could try to squeeze a retort through his lips, there was a loud, metallic 'clang' from behind the cultist, and the fanatic's eyes briefly fluttered. The Talonite's body pitched forward, falling directly on top of Tavros' face.

For a few moments, the henchman's cries were muffled underneath the fanatic's robes. Suddenly, the cultist's body was rolled away, and Tavros found Dace towering above him. The steel bracers that bound the mercenary's arms were stained with a spot of blood from the back of the Talonite's head.

"Hurry up and start moving again," Dace said down to the henchman, "I do not care for interruptions in my work."

"Bastard…" Tavros wheezed again, struggling to move into a sitting position, "Why did you…?"

"You wish to know why I came back? Because I never leave a job unfinished, so long as I still have something to gain." The assassin looked away and pointed at a wooden structure across the street, "If you are so eager to lick your employer's boots, then you must follow me into that building."

Without bothering to wait or offer any assistance, the mercenary walked off, fixed toward his goal, leaving the henchman to sputter and thrash about as he attempted to get his legs to stand. Still slightly off balance, Tavros managed to climb to his feet and retrieve his sword, but had to take a few minutes to hobble over to check on his fellow henchman.

The man was still unconscious and the smoke coming from his arm was enough to sting Tavros' nostrils, but he was otherwise unharmed. Tavros grabbed the henchman's crossbow and a few bolts from the ground, then staggered after Dace, keeping the weapon aimed and ready.

"Ah, good. We will need that," Dace said when he spotted Tavros approaching with the crossbow. The aged mercenary pointed up at a tiny window on the second floor of the building. "There is a trigger switch in that alcove. Aim for a spot on the ceiling, about a foot inside the wall."

"I can't make a shot like that without being able to see the target." Tavros nonetheless pointed the crossbow at the window, all the while keeping his distance from the assassin. The bolt flew, but they heard it clank against stone and clatter to the floor inside, obviously missing the target.

As Tavros began to reload a second bolt, Dace extended his wrists and spoke, "Then give the crossbow to me, and I will make the shot."

The henchman didn't take his eyes off the mercenary as the bolt clicked into place. "Do you honestly expect me to do something so foolish?"

"I expect you to do what is rational. My loyalty has been proven." The mercenary held up the steel bracers, "It would be no difficult matter to hire a mage-smith and be rid of these bindings, but that would mean abandoning my current mission." Dace raised his head slightly and cast his gaze across the river. "And I do have a reputation to consider.

"Of course," murmured Tavros, "to shoot a crossbow like this, you would need both hands free." The henchman tightened his grip on the weapon, staring down the shaft at the mercenary.

"Then we are at an impasse," Dace said with a slight shrug, "But consider which of us is more pressed for time. I believe you have an employer who demands results. Is he willing to wait for the sun to grow cold?"

As much as he wanted to strike down the arrogant bastard then and there, Tavros had enough presence of mind to keep his anger under control. He reluctantly held out the crossbow, pointing it away toward the building, then unsheathed his sword and held it ready.

"Make your shot," he growled, "but it you turn this weapon even slightly in my direction, I will cut you down and deal with the consequences myself. I imagine it would be less unpleasant than continuing to put up with you." He glanced down at the steel bracers on Dace's wrists. "_Liberatus_."

As soon as the keyword was spoken, the bracers clicked and separated, freeing the mercenary's arms. Without a word, Dace swept the crossbow up, aimed at the window for a brief second, and triggered the release. The shot lanced through the air and a hollow thump echoed from within the building.

A low grinding noise could be heard from within, and there was a series of rapid 'clacks' as some internal mechanism unlocked the doors, letting them drift open slightly. Squinting past the mercenary, Tavros could see nothing but darkness within the room.

Dace tossed the crossbow to the ground and strode forward, disappearing into the dark room.

"Hold there, don't move!" Tavros shouted as he hastily retrieved the crossbow. The henchman put his sword away before quickly loading another bolt into the missile weapon.

A few sparks appeared in the shadows, then a flame burst into existence, bringing Dace's form to light in an ominous orange glow. Dace was just a few feet inside, crouching beside a bucket of torches by the wall. The mercenary planted the torch in an empty sconce on the wall and proceeded toward the other end of the room.

Peering across, Tavros could see a single worn chest and a few wooden crates stacked against the back wall.

"This is your hideout?" asked the henchman as he stepped inside, aiming his weapon at Dace. "Rather sparse. What's in the crates?"

"Enough flaming oil to completely level a wood-enforced building like this one. Try not to knock that torch." Dace kneeled beside the chest and began feeling around the hinges on the back. Presumably, he was disarming some deadly trap, but Tavros didn't relax his hold on the crossbow's release.

After a few seconds, Dace pulled back and casually flipped open the chest lid. Tavros squinted in the torch-glow and saw the mercenary draw out a long grey sash from within.

"Wait, that can't be the Sigil! It's supposed to be a medallion of some sort."

Dace tossed the sash over his shoulder. "You are correct, of course. This is, in fact, a bandolier filled with gemstones… my retirement fund." The mercenary reached into a pocket on the sash and tossed a tiny diamond in the air.

Tavros let his finger stroke the release trigger, "Bastard blackheart, you've been leading me! Where's the bloody Sigil!"

"Somewhere safe, hidden elsewhere in the city. I will recover it soon enough, but first I must deal with _you_."

"_Strictus_!" The bracers instantly snapped Dace's wrists together.

"_Liberatus_," countered Dace, and his arms were free again. The mercenary immediately tore off the left bracer and whipped the steel object overhand at Tavros.

The henchman ducked as the bracer flew past, at the same time pulling the trigger on his crossbow. The weapon clicked, but the quarrel didn't shoot.

Dace smirked, "Someone once taught me how to fix a crossbow latch in place so it won't release properly. Never hand a weapon to an enemy, idiot."

Breathing heavily through flared nostrils, Tavros fidgeted with the mechanism for a moment before tossing the weapon aside in disgust. He immediately drew his broadsword. "Little is changed. You still don't have a weapon, blackheart."

"Words of an amateur," Dace remarked, extending his arms out to the side. "A professional is _never_ caught unarmed. I have all the weapons I need right here." He held up his forearms and stretched his empty fingers.

_Arrogant bastard_, thought the henchman as he rushed forward. _Cold steel is the only way to teach this old mutt his place_.

The mercenary stood his ground, measuring Tavros' distance against the potential reach of his sword. As soon as Tavros came within striking range, Dace shifted his weight to the front of his toes. When the henchman's arm pulled back slightly to make the first attack, Dace abruptly rolled his weight to his heels and leaped backward, letting the sword swish past.

Dace immediately closed in, using his left hand to grab the henchman's sword arm at the wrist, at the same time slamming his right forearm under Tavros' chin. Tavros felt his teeth clack together, and he let out a frustrated growl. He then responded by shoving forward, knocking both of them back against a stack of crates.

They were grappling too close for Tavros to swing his sword, so he instead thrust out with his free hand, seizing the mercenary by the throat. Dace coughed and frantically grabbed at Tavros' face with his right hand. It was obvious, however, that Tavros' strength far exceeded the older man.

"Any more smug words, you knave?" Tavros sneered as the steel bracer on Dace's arm pressed against the henchman's face.

Dace wheezed and spoke through his clenched jaw. "_S-strictus_..."

"What?" Even as Tavros spoke, it dawned on him that the other enchanted bracer had been lying on the ground back by the door. Before he could even turn to look, a hard, steel object slammed into the back of Tavros' skull, magically pulled toward its partner that was being pressed against the front of the man's head. For a moment, the entire world seemed to become an explosion of colours, and Tavros suddenly had the hazy impression that he had collapsed from the blow.

The last thing Tavros saw before blacking out was the tip of Dace's black boot, coming forward to strike him between his eyes.

(12:44)

Cerdan leaned forward and lightly Selena on the shoulder. "Turn left here, immediately after you pass that tavern. But don't ride too close to the building. That place is really a hideout for the Spider Blades, and they won't take kindly to people riding a warhorse of Tyr, you know?"

"Should I be concerned by the fact that you're so familiar with such a depraved part of criminal society?"

"Not really. I just like to keep tabs on the local gangs in this area. Believe me, the Shadow Thieves are of a much higher cut than these hoodlums." Cerdan paused to reach into his shirt pocket and remove the tracking crystal. Judging by the position of the tiny bug lights, the person they were chasing was extremely close and would probably come into view soon enough.

"In fact," he continued, "I wouldn't be surprised if our mutual foe was hired by one of these gangsters. One of the local crimelords must be feeling quite daring to think he can pull off a guild war in a single day."

"What do you keep looking at back there?" Selena suddenly asked, trying to crane her head around at him.

The thief quickly slipped the crystal away before she could see it, then smiled slyly at the priestess. "Why, the lovely curves of your body, of course."

Selena sighed to herself in disgust and shifted forward slightly on the saddle, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the close proximity to her travelling companion.

(12:48)

Tavros awakened to the blurry sight of an assassin hovering no more than a few feet away. Dace now wore a thin black cloak over his shoulders, and had no doubt rearmed himself from the chest while Tavros was unconscious. The henchman coughed and tried to look around, but the sounds he made drew Dace's attention.

"On your feet," said the mercenary, taking a few steps closer. "Time for a walk."

Blinking several times, Tavros slowly saw the world come into focus, then tried to rub his eyes. As soon as he moved his arm, however, he realized that his wrists were tied together behind his back by a tight length of rope.

The mercenary was standing close by, fixing a single leather bracer over his left forearm. Looking past, Tavros saw that the two steel bracers had been removed and were lying on the ground near the chest. Dace experimentally flexed his wrist backward in a quick snapping motion, and a small, flat dagger shot out of a slot in the brown bracer and landed neatly in the palm of his hand.

"I normally prefer not to use this," Dace said, barely glancing at Tavros, "The last man who wore this armband accidentally slashed his own palm wide open when the spring mechanism misfired." He pushed the dagger back into the slot, and the leather bracer 'clicked' as soon as the weapon was concealed. "But I suppose I will need an edge when I head off to meet your boss."

"You think I'll help you!" Tavros spat at the mercenary's boots. "Pah, you said you'd kill me if I was ever alone and unarmed like this."

"I lied." Dace crouched down and peered into the henchman's eyes with a neutral expression. "But do not take that as a sign of mercy; you will soon find that there are fates far worse than death."

The mercenary stood and gave Tavros a swift kick in the mid-section, sending several drops of spittle flying from the henchman's lips.

Tavros wheezed several times into the dirt floor and tried to roll away, but Dace grabbed the man by the arms and hoisted him up. As soon as he was standing, Tavros saw that one of his goons, the one who was previously knocked unconscious by the Talonite leader, lay on the ground nearby in a pool of blood.

"One of your men came inside while you were out." Dace said, following Tavros' gaze. "His swordsmanship was sub-par much like your own, and it leads me to wonder what sort of incompetents you have working in your little gang."

"What are you going to do with me?"

Dace produced a dagger from beneath his cloak and shoved Tavros forward. "First, we will retrieve the precious Sigil that you wanted. Then I intend to travel straight to your base and murder your boss, along with anyone else who stands in my way." He spoke every word matter-of-factly and without a single twinge of anger.

"Why are you bothering? All we wanted was the Sigil. What we're doing doesn't concern you."

"And my deeper reasons for killing your boss do not concern _you_," Dace said into Tavros' face.

As they passed out the doors of the building, Dace removed the lit torch from its sconce on the wall and turned to face the inside of the guard post. He hurled the torch through the air, and it landed atop the crate full of flaming oil flasks.

"As you can see," Dace said as he pushed Tavros into a march, "I prefer not to leave loose ends for others to follow. Now we need to pay a visit to the docks district. Do not try to cross me."

His words were emphasized by a loud explosion from behind, followed by a massive wave of heat as the wooden building went up in flames. Tavros swallowed, and felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead. Things had just become far more difficult than either he or Cordas could have anticipated.

(12:53)

Every step that Norris took on his journey back to Cordas' base made his footing feel more awkward and uneven. Having lost a boot in his escape from that elven priestess, the former ranger was forced to swipe a replacement from either Shen or the Sergeant.

"And just my luck, they both wear shoes several sizes bigger than my own." He glanced down at the Sergeant's huge, unwieldy boot. It wobbled each time his foot left the ground, and felt terribly uncomfortable.

Then again, it was much better than the alternative. Anyone fool enough to walk barefoot down Southside Row was liable to get a jagged stone or a three-inch shard of glass jammed through their heels. If that wasn't bad enough, the disease-ridden filth in the dirt underfoot was likely to cause terrible flesh-rot when exposed to an open sore.

Norris was just glad that he didn't have to do any more running. In addition to his cumbersome steps, he was experiencing difficulty from the intense burning sensation that was spreading down his chest. Whenever he took a deep breath, it felt as if the top of his lungs had been set aflame.

As the ranger continued down the unpaved road, deep in his own thoughts, a grey-hooded man who was crossing the street suddenly came to a halt directly in Norris' path. The ranger said nothing and tried to angle past the man, but the stranger's hand snapped out and caught Norris by the shoulder.

"That's a quite large bandage you have over your neck. Get a nasty bug bite recently?" The stranger turned to face Norris, and the ranger saw that it was an elf. "Maybe it would be best if you came with me. I have a lady-friend who could fix that wound up, right and quick."

The elf gave a smile, and Norris immediately recoiled. It was too friendly, the elf's demeanor; terribly out of place in this destitute part of the city. One of Cordas' men come to finish him off, most likely. Norris backpedaled and started to run back the way he came.

He spun around to flee, but found himself staring into the dark eyes of a marked royal warhorse. Upon it sat the same elven priestess he met earlier. In her hands, she held a large steel mace, ready to strike at the ranger.

"Criminal," she began, "By authority of the Church of Tyr, I am hereby placing you under arrest for—"

Norris suddenly kicked his leg up, and the loose, oversized boot went flying from his foot, smacking Selena's horse between the eyes. The steed let out a startled whinny and reared back, knocking the priestess from her saddle and forcing her to grab at the reins before the movements could throw her off. Her left leg became tangled in the stirrup, and she flailed around while struggling to hang on and keep the spooked horse from galloping off.

Immediately, the hooded male elf seized the ranger by the arms from behind, further inflaming the burning pain along Norris' upper body. Clenching his jaw against the pain, the poisoned ranger snapped his head backwards, and his skull slammed into the elven rogue's nose with a wet crunch.

The sudden blow left the elf slightly stunned, and Norris stumbled forward, using the opportunity to pull free and break off, praying that his foot wouldn't land on anything sharp as he ran. Without stopping to think, Norris threw himself into the first alleyway he passed, seeking refuge once more in the shadows of Baldur's Gate.

Though he feared becoming lost in the city's labyrinthine underbelly, the ranger knew that it was better to be an aimless wolf, without purpose or drive, than to be a bound mutt at the beck and call of another. Whether that binding was to a priestess or a crimelord made little difference to him. For once, it was time to take his own path.

A sudden gust of cold wind from up ahead swept through the alleyway, forcing Norris to blink and turn his head. Peeking back over his shoulder, he could see the male elf standing just outside the alley entrance. The hooded elf had one hand clutched over his bleeding nose, while the other was frantically pointing down the alleyway as he yelled something to the priestess.

Clutching at his own neck, Norris turned his eyes forward again, and almost stopped in surprise. A dim figure now stood in the middle of the path ahead, garbed in a heavy white coat.

"Move out of my way!" Norris shouted, waving his arms at the stranger. The newcomer would not budge aside, but didn't move to intercept the oncoming ranger either. Norris continued to charge, moving closer to the wall.

When Norris was but a few seconds from passing, the man in white suddenly raised his head toward the skies and extended his arms outward from his body. In the same instant, a brilliant burst of light blossomed out from each of the stranger's open palms, forcing Norris to shield his eyes and skid to a halt.

The flash quickly cleared, and Norris warily lowered his arms and kept a safe distance. Tightly gripped in the white-coat's hands were two glowing longswords that appeared to be made entirely of golden flame. Even the hilts and crossguards looked like yellow fire, yet they didn't harm their wielder's skin. The white-coat held his blazing swords out so the tips touched each of the walls, creating smoky wisps as they burned into the stone.

"Norris Delaen, fallen ranger…" The stranger intoned the words in a deep tone that had a very slight vibration, as if there were two voices speaking slightly out of synch. He lowered his head slightly to gaze directly into the ranger's eyes. "A great injustice has been committed. Entrust your faith unto me, and I may deliver you from that which seeks to consume you."

Momentarily forgetting about the two elves behind him, Norris slowly backed away from the stranger. "Who in the hells are you? Did Cordas send you?"

"Who am I?" echoed the white-coat, "I am your saviour. You have fallen far in your lifetime, and I have been sent with a mandate to alter your fate… or you will become blind and lost in your own quest of hatred."

The stranger raised his right arm slightly, then slammed it down in an arc, drawing a line of black ash and sparks as his weapon streaked against the wall. He raised his head toward the elves that were quickly approaching from behind the ranger.

There was a sad expression in the man's eyes, and a slight smile appeared at the corner of his lips. "You need run from your past no longer, fallen one. There is no choice here. For good or for ill, it rests upon you to finally face these present events, and in doing so, determine the path of our future…"

**(1:00 PM)**


	9. Deus Ex Machina

**Deus Ex Machina**

**(1:00 PM)**

"Well, what an unexpectedly convenient turn," Cerdan chirped as he advanced on the pair in the alley. "A stranger holding our quarry at bay." The rogue wiped some of the blood off his upper lip, then let his hand slip to the hilt of his sword. "And what, praytell, is your business here?"

"This ranger is under my protection." The white-coat slowly lowered his arms.

"Tar that!" Norris said, breaking into a run away from the elves.

The man in white made a smooth flicking motion with his wrist, and a whipping gust of wind swept through the alley, lightly knocking both Norris and the elves to the ground. The wind quickly died down, and the stranger stood patiently as the three worked back to their feet.

"I'm afraid this is not a point for debate. There lie fires on the horizon, and more at stake than you are aware. Wheels within wheels, plans within plans, both in this city and beyond." He made a dismissive gesture, and the two flaming swords dissipated, dissolving into errant strands of light. "You three each have a part to contribute before the end comes."

He noticed that both Cerdan and Selena had hands on their weapons as they warily sized up the newcomer. "There is no need for that," he continued, "You know better than to resort to violence on a whim. Be it known that I am not one you should consider an enemy, nor do I deserve your wrath." The man lowered his eyes and shook his head again, "If you wish to save your people and most importantly, _yourselves_, then I beseech you to place your faith within me."

"What are you?" demanded Selena, "Some sort of wizard?"

"No, priestess. My powers are from a divine source." The man extended his arms and gave a large shrug, letting the heavy white coat drop from his shoulders to the ground.

All three of them stared silently at the man's form. Extending from the newcomer's back were two massive white-feathered wings. He flexed his wings, stretching them out against the opposite walls of the alley.

"I cannot speak of my true name, but you may address me as Cyrael… and I trust some of you are well-travelled enough to recognize the form of being that I am."

"A celestial…" Selena whispered. She probably would have bowed her head in reverence if she hadn't been so utterly flabbergasted by the man's wings.

Norris was the first to regain his wits. "I don't care what you are. If any you think I'm going to just fold and go quietly to the Tower of Tyr…"

"That will not be necessary, ranger," Cyrael said before Selena could interrupt. "As I said, a great injustice has taken place against you… and though there are many avenues through which justice may be achieved, your path leads forward, not back."

The celestial raised a hand into the air, and a small spiral of wind formed around his feet, carrying his white coat up into his grasp. Folding his wings close to his body, Cyrael draped the coat back on his shoulders. "Our quest lies to the east, in the lair of one who would be king of his own private pandemonium."

"Cordas," Norris growled, gaining a simple nod from the celestial.

Selena stepped forward and bowed slightly toward the celestial. "If that is the path we must take, then I would be honoured to offer my assistance."

"Well, that's all just great," said Cerdan, still clutching his nose. "Now that we're such a big, friendly party, maybe you'd like to share with us what today's whole mess is about." He let go and glanced down at the blood that had leaked onto his fingers. "And maybe I could get some healing before I make a puddle here."

As Selena moved to aid him, Cyrael turned and pointed down the alley. "That is where our destined path lies. Come, there is still much to do and far more to discuss."

(1:04)

"Empty the bucket into the well," instructed Dace, casually leaning on a decaying wall nearby.

"Why in the hells are we here, in some abandoned Il-mater temple?" Tavros demanded, peering down into the old well. They had not travelled far to reach this place near the edge of the docks district. "And this thing must have been tapped dry years ago." With much difficulty, he raised the pail of water in his bound hands, then dumped the water down the chute. That made at least five buckets so far. "Is this how I'm to be punished? With idiotic, menial labour?"

"Be quiet and stand away. That is probably enough water." Dace removed a coil of rope from his belt and looped one end around the handle of the empty bucket. "In a profession as hazardous as my own, one is expected to set contingencies."

With the rope firmly tied, Dace tossed the bucket into the well and slowly extended the rope until he heard a light splash. "Did you know that whenever a well dries out in Baldur's Gate, it needs to be sealed up from both the top and bottom of the chute? A hygiene issue. The cold, moist spots tend to attract larger pests from the waterways." He started tugging the rope around, fishing around for something in the well. "Something I learned a few years back while I was plotting out the various escape routes from the city."

"So now I know why this well was boarded up. I'm so glad," said Tavros, glancing to the side at the wooden planks they had removed earlier. "But what is the point of all this?"

The mercenary drew up the bucket, and Tavros saw that there was a round black object floating atop the water inside. "The point," Dace continued, "is that I now have the leverage I need for when we go to meet your boss."

Dace pulled the Sigil out of the bucket and dried it off on his cloak, then held it up for Tavros to see. The henchman stared at the image of a flame-winged angel engraved on the black, wooden amulet.

"Do you really think you'll be able to just walk through the streets with me bound like this? People will notice."

Tucking the Sigil away into a pocket, Dace began to untie the rope from the bucket. "We are currently close to Southside Row. Do you know what the people around here will do if they see a sneering, black-cloaked man leading a bound and beaten prisoner through the streets? They will stare for a moment, then glance to the side and hurry away. This is criminal territory, and the locals know well enough that wide eyes lead to trouble."

The mercenary looped the rope and attached the coil to his belt. "Start moving. Time for this little charade to end."

(1:07)

"This is a terrible part of town. I can't believe someone would stoop so low as to steal a marked warhorse of Tyr," said Selena as they walked along the rough streets of Southside Row. She sighed, then looked back toward Cerdan's injured nose.

"I told you that would happen if you left your mount unattended."

The priestess traced another magical symbol in the air, but it fizzled and went up in a puff of smoke, just like all the others. "That's odd. None of my healing spells are functioning. It's like my spells have been drained somehow…"

Cerdan coughed and looked away. "Er, so what do you think of this 'Cyrael' character?" The elf pointed ahead at the celestial. "I find it strange that you of all people would be so eager to jump on board with him."

"Please. I'm not a fool," she replied, tracing another symbol in the air. "It is possible that he is leading us on, but I find that unlikely, given his bearing and willingness to help us. If this were a trap, I would expect this crime lord to strike at us more directly than go through such an elaborate deception to win our trust.

"Besides, you're forgetting that I'm a diviner by nature. When he wasn't looking, I cast a spell to detect lies. I asked him about his motives for this quest, and didn't sense any falsehood in his little speech about 'faith' and 'destiny'. That gives me _some _peace of mind."

"I thought you said your magic wasn't working correctly."

"Only my curative spells, though I admit magical detection isn't always the most reliable method. We'll just have to pay attention to what he says and does." She stretched her fingers and lightly touched her holy symbol. "Hm. Nothing else feels wrong with me. I may have to transmute one of my non-healing spells." With one hand, Selena traced a slightly more complex symbol in the air, then whispered a few additional words. Her hand glowed blue for a moment, and the priestess touched Cerdan on the nose. "There, that takes care of it."

The stinging pain lingered, but the bleeding stopped. Cerdan brought a small cloth from his pocket and wiped the remaining blood away from his nose. "Thanks. So what do we do about him?" He gestured ahead at Norris.

Selena shrugged, "The celestial seems convinced that the wayward ranger can be redeemed. Justice _does _depend on repentance and absolution, in my opinion at least. I will defer to the celestial's judgment for now, so long as this Norris Delaen proves willing to change."

(1:09)

"I'm not going to change," Norris stated flatly, not bothering to even look at Cyrael. "I'm sure you mean well, but it's a little late for the whole sin and repentance deal. All I want now is to cut out Cordas' slimy heart and serve it to him on his own silver tea platter."

"Is hatred really enough? You should focus your vision upon the grander picture."

The ranger glanced over his shoulder at the elves and noticed they were lagging behind, out of earshot. "I've been living with this hatred for nearly a decade. Now it's all that I have left. So please, don't try to take that away from me."

"You may yet have a life to look forward to."

Norris scoffed, "Yes, maybe eighteen hours or so." He winced at the pain in his chest and neck, and a few stars appeared in his field vision.

Cyrael suddenly reached over and placed a hand against the back of Norris' neck. The spot glowed with yellow light for a moment, and Norris' pain began to dull slightly. The poisonous threat lingered, but his movements did not feel as restrictive now.

"I can merely dull the senses." Cyrael said, "Only Cordas, with his antidote, can repair the physical pain. But the pain that you feel here…" The celestial placed a hand over his heart. "That is something only _you_ can heal.

"I am your salvation, but it is up to you to come to terms with your own inner demons, ranger. You've already shown that you are capable of trusting others. But if you wish to feel peace, you will have to learn to trust yourself."

Norris let out a slightly irritated sigh, but didn't say anything. Probably because he just wanted the celestial to stop talking. Why this divine being would be so interested in the ranger's life was beyond his imagination.

Cyrael shrugged and looked forward along the open road and pointed to a building in the distance. "There. Is that the base of the criminal leader, Cordas?"

"Yes." Norris balled his hands into fists and began to hurry forward with renewed focus.

"Come," Cyrael called back to the elves, "Destiny approaches!"

(1:10)

"Now this is unusual," spoke Cerdan, coming up beside the others. He cocked his head toward the building down the road. "That's Cordas' hideout, isn't it? Looks like there isn't a single person guarding the place."

"Perhaps they're hidden at lookouts nearby?" suggested the priestess.

The thief shook his head, "These amateur criminal gangs, they're all about brute strength and bluster. They need to keep their muscle visible to scare off their rivals and the clueless locals."

"He's right," Norris murmured, "when I left this place earlier today, there were at least half a dozen armed men patrolling outside."

"Also," continued the elf, "unless I'm mistaken, the place is a whorehouse. I would've expected more clientele passing in and out."

"But it's still early in the afternoon..." said Selena.

A sly grin appeared on Cerdan's face, "You really do lead a cloistered life, don't you?" He waved a hand at Norris, "These humans, they mate at _all_ hours of the day, every day. No wonder they seem to run rampant through the world like rabbits. At any rate, it's probably best if I scout the place out first."

"Be careful."

"Hey, it's me, remember?" Cerdan winked at her, then slinked away toward the brothel.

(1:11)

The remaining elf turned to Norris. "As we await his return, I have some questions to ask of you."

"I already told you, elf, I won't answer to your little inquisition." Norris sneered and made a furtive gesture in her direction. "If you want information, you're going to have to drag me away in chains and go back to interrogating me in a stone cell."

Despite Norris' displeasure, the priestess persisted. "When I first encountered you earlier today, I took you for a mere ruffian, even worse than his type," she said, gesturing off in the direction Cerdan had gone. "Imagine my surprise when I learned from the temple archives that you were once the dedicated protector of a small town out in the Cloakwood forest. How could a person with your background possibly fall so far? It goes beyond my knowledge."

Mumbling a few unintelligible words under his breath, Norris simply crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, glaring ahead at the crimelord's base.

"You should be more grateful for my continued tolerance. Were it not for his assurance," she said, pointing behind at the celestial. "I would have you arrested on the spot and 'dragged away in chains' as you put it."

"That's the problem with you mindless lawbringers; all you think about is punishing people," growled the ranger. "Maybe you'd be in a position to actually help people for a change if you weren't so blind and deaf to their needs."

The priestess folded her arms, mirroring Norris' stance. "Preposterous. My temple is completely devoted to providing–"

"Your temple is located smack in the middle of the nobles' district, conveniently surrounded by some of the wealthiest sods in the city. I wonder how many chests of coin went into that looming eyesore." He shielded his eyes from the sun and gazed at the white tower in the distance.

"You're making my people sound like profit-driven merchants. That couldn't be further from the truth."

"There's a solid gold statue of Tyr towering inside your temple entrance that would imply otherwise. See, faithmonger, your order has put a price on life, and people suffer for it." He motioned toward the various cripples and vagrants lining the streets of Southside Row.

"Your perception is flawed. My people make every effort to reach out to these unfortunates."

"Hmph. 'Unfortunates.' Bah, we've wasted enough time here." Norris pushed away from the wall and moved toward Cordas' hideout. "I won't wait for your friend any longer. For all we know, Cordas might already be aware of our approach."

Letting out another sigh, Selena sent a pleading glance toward Cyrael, but he just looked on quietly with his brow furrowed slightly, curiosity plain on his face. The celestial nodded in Norris' direction and paced after the ranger.

"I pray this entourage doesn't grow any worse beyond its present members," the elf whispered to herself as she hurried after the others. "Working with thieves and outlaws... how utterly degrading."

(1:14)

Cerdan peeked inside another window around the side of the building. "Hm. Not a harlot in sight. Pity."

Thus far, the elf hadn't seen a single sign of life within Cordas' hideout, which led him to wonder if Norris was dragging the party on a goose chase. In any case, Cerdan knew his next move was to quietly break inside for a more thorough search of the brothel.

At the edge of his vision, a dark object suddenly moved. The elf twisted his head in time to spot someone's boot retreat around the corner of the building.

"Hold there, I say!" the thief called out, rushing forth in pursuit. When he approached the bend, a black-gloved hand struck out from behind the corner at face level, and the elf's momentum brought his nose crashing into the waiting fist.

Cerdan grunted as soon as he made contact and stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding nose for the second time within the hour. A cloaked figure in black emerged from around the brick wall, stretching his fingers as he stared at the elf.

"I have a tendency to never forget a face," he said, rubbing his knuckles. Dace let his other hand drop to the side of his belt. "And unless I am mistaken, we have skirmished before."

The elf's eyes widened for a moment, then quickly narrowed into a glare. "I remember you... as I recall, you're supposed to be in prison right now." Cerdan reached for his sword, but the mercenary leaped forward and seized the thief by the wrist.

Dace pivoted and drove his other elbow out, slamming the elf in the side of the head before he could counter. Blurriness overtook Cerdan's vision, and he staggered back in a daze. As he flailed his arms trying to escape the mercenary's grasp, he was able to briefly spot a sharp metallic object appear in Dace's free hand.

In an instant, Cerdan felt the edge of a dagger pressed firmly across his throat, close enough that he could feel his own pulse beating against the metal. The elf froze and slowly extended his hands to the side, open-palmed.

"Now _this_ interests me." Dace removed the elf's sword with his other hand and briefly glanced at the symbols marking the hilt. "This is the insignia of a Shadow Thief... and a high ranking one at that. Speak, are you working with Cordas?" He pressed his question further by applying slightly more force to the blade.

"Well, given my edgy predicament, I'll work for whoever you want me to."

"Not the smartest answer you could provide, elf. I have slain greater people for lesser slights..." The mercenary took the dagger away from Cerdan's throat and prodded the elf in the back. "Fortunately for you, my need for information outweighs my usual ruthlessness." Dace forced the elf into a march toward the back of the building.

Cerdan rubbed at his neck. No doubt this mercenary was just as confused as the Shadow Thief by the lack of people within the building. As they passed into the dim light, Cerdan saw that the building had a rear door, currently held ajar by a pile of something among the shadows on the ground. When they neared the entrance, Dace pushed the door open all the way with his foot, then motioned with the dagger for the elf to go inside.

On closer inspection, Cerdan saw that the pile on the ground was actually another human, this one bound by the ankles and wrists. A number of fresh, heavy bruises over his face and head made it clear that this man was out cold.

Cerdan knew that the smartest thing he could do was break off and return with Selena and the others at his back. On the other hand, the mercenary's involvement in this whole matter sparked the elf's curiosity. He glanced at his captor's scowling face, and felt certain that this was the same man he'd once fought several years before... on the day of the Verskul incident. The same day that the whole mess with the Sigils first started.

"Your name is Dace, isn't it?" Cerdan asked, "As I remember, you were sailed off to Lancam's Isle. We saw to that ourselves."

"Apparently, the notion of justice in this city is less rigid than one would think." Dace pointed toward the unconscious person. "Drag him inside. It is past time the three of us had a short talk."

(1:18)

"Those bleeding cowards! The place is deserted," Norris fumed, knowing that his revenge against Cordas would be delayed once more. He turned about in a circle, gazing into each of the open rooms that were connected with the foyer. There wasn't a soul he could see, and Norris needed every fibre of self-control to keep from tearing up all the furniture within reach.

"Is it truly such an important thing to seize?" asked Cyrael, coming up behind the ranger. "Revenge, I speak of."

"Why do you keep pestering about that? My mental well-being is such a concern to you?" He said with a sneer on his face.

"As an astral deva, it is my nature to be concerned about matters on the Prime Material. Of course, you are a unique case..."

Norris rolled his eyes and started forward into the nearest parlour room, leaving muddy footprints on the plush red carpet. "Really. Let me guess, this is the part in a bard's tale where you start going on in your dramatic, echoing voice about how I'm some 'chosen saviour', and that I'm humanity's lone hope against a great destruction that will be brought upon us by some cosmic face of villainy."

The celestial chuckled softly. "There would be little point in that. Humanity needs no more hope. But yours is certainly _not _some grand epic. Suffice to say, like all those involved in our quest, you have a role to play before your life reaches a close."

"The only role I'm interested in is part where I mount Cordas' wrinkly head on a spear and burn his criminal empire to the earth."

"Empire? That would be stretching the truth to fill your flawed expectations, wouldn't you say?"

When the celestial's words touched Norris' ears, he halted and shot a glare back.

Cyrael continued, "Unlike you, I see the trials of your past through clear panes." The white-coat moved his hand in an arc and made five small moth-like flames appear in the air, each of which almost immediately went out in a tiny puff of smoke. "Five young adventurers, travelling the city for the first time. Led on by the protector of their rural village, one Ranger Norris Delaen."

"I don't want to hear this!" shouted Norris, taking a step toward the celestial with his hands clenched into fists.

Cyrael grabbed the man by the shoulder, forcing him to halt. "And yet, this is exactly what you _need_ to hear. There is no choice in this matter; you will never be ready to face your present without first making peace with your past." Norris' grimace remained etched on his face, but he stopped trying to break from the celestial's solid grasp.

"When your village went through a period of drought, your party came to Baldur's Gate seeking trade. It is an unusual thing for a forest ranger to leave his lands in order to visit these human hives, but I imagine you believed you owed a duty to those friends. A duty that you have since turned into a weight upon your soul." Cyrael's dark eyes seemed to stare into the ranger's heart.

The celestial went on, "Your journey required a pass through the city's Old Quarter... but this happened on the same day that zealots from a Talonite cult unleashed a cursed plague in that district."

Norris swallowed and lowered his head.

"One by one, your friends collapsed from the malady, leaving you standing amongst the fallen as the sole survivor." Cyrael shook his head slightly and released his hold on the ranger's arm. "Now speak unto me, is that why you fault yourself? Because random luck happened to spare you outside the others' fate? For years you have lived with a burden of shame, borne of your original duty. But it is you and you alone that created this burden. If you truly wish to be free of it, then it depends on a choice made by you, not a warped sense of retaliation against Cordas or anyone else."

"They weren't dead yet," Norris suddenly murmured, still not looking up. "My friends... I was able to have them brought to the nearest temple, but the clerics at the old church of Tyr refused to cure and restore them without several thousand gold pieces each. Not a small task for a rural woodsman who had never even seen a city before."

"Wait," said Selena, surprising the pair as she approached from one of the other rooms in the hallway. "Is that why you hold such a grudge against me and my kind? Because you were too poor? I'm sure if you had explained your lack of wealth to the clerics..."

"I don't recall giving you permission to listen in and judge me, priestess," he snapped back, cursing her elven ears. Norris abruptly turned his back on them and entered the next room. "We should be hounding Cordas, not jawing on about my life."

"Indeed," spoke a new voice from the far side of the room. "I have no desire to hear any more of this self-centred lamenting..."

Norris froze as a lanky man dressed in black stepped into view between the door frame at the room's opposite end. His dark form blocked most the sunlight in the doorway, creating a slight nimbus around him. "...And there is so much for us to discuss."

(1:24)

Selena's hand instantly dropped to the handle of her mace as she stared across the room at the newcomer. "Dace..."

From the side, she vaguely noticed Norris glancing back and forth between her and the mercenary. "Who is this? Another of Cordas' goons?"

"He's a criminal of the worst element," Selena answered before Dace could reply. "I don't know how you escaped from prison, but I'll gladly see to it that you return!" She bent her knees slightly and held her mace upright, expecting the mercenary to blast forward at any moment.

She saw that Cyrael had adopted a similarly cautious stance with the flaming swords conjured in the celestial's hands once more. This reassured the elf that her instincts were right; the celestial seemed like a perceptive sort, and the fact that he was more suspicious of Dace than of Norris made it clear that the assassin was without a doubt their enemy.

Dace shifted his eyes between all three of his opponents, obviously sizing them up as potential threats. His brow furrowed slightly when he looked at Cyrael. Surprisingly, the mercenary then smirked at Selena, as if someone had just told him a joke. "Ah yes, the cleric of justice who spearheaded the case against me at my trial. Now it starts to make sense." He looked to the side at someone in the room he had entered from.

"By the authority of Tyr," Selena called, "I order you to surrender and submit to arrest!" Her knuckles went white as she gripped her mace.

The smirk vanished from Dace's lips, and the priestess half expected the man to charge. Instead, he simply folded his arms. "I know that you will do no such thing, cleric. I can see by your companions' attire and weaponry that they are not officials of justice. It is interesting that a cleric of Tyr would be associating with the criminals and thieves of Southside Row."

"I have done no such thing, now surr-"

"Really." Dace suddenly leaned over to the side, behind the door frame, and dragged Cerdan across the floor into view. Selena could see that the elf was gagged and had his hands and ankles tied with rope, but appeared otherwise unharmed.

"I am certain that neither of us is interested in idleness, so do not attempt to deny your relationship with this Shadow Thief," Dace said to Selena, "I know that you are both in cooperation, and that you are likely here for the same reason as I: one crimelord by the name of Cordas."

Selena felt her lip twitch involuntarily. "That thief means nothing to me."

"Very well. I warned you not to waste my time." Dace suddenly reached to the side again, this time bringing out Cerdan's longsword. In a quick motion, the mercenary swept the blade across at the bound elf.

"No, stop!" Selena shouted, breaking forward in a run. Even Cyrael had thrown his coat off and was charging forward, wings at full span.

But before either combatant could even come close to the mercenary, Dace raised the sword, pointing the tip forward. Not a drop of blood stained the blade. A cleanly severed piece of rope hung atop the blade, dangling in the air. Selena and Cyrael slowed to a stop when they saw Cerdan remained unharmed.

Dace kicked Cerdan in the foot, "Your legs are now free. Go join your allies on the other side of this standoff." As the elf struggled up, Dace lowered the longsword and tossed it to the carpet. He addressed Selena again, "I am, above all else, a practical man. We have a common goal in-"

"I care not, fugitive. You're mad if you think I'll work with twisted serial killer."

"Those words may come a little later," Dace muttered as he surveyed her companions. If the killer was at all perturbed by Cyrael's wings, he showed no outward sign of it. "However, you are wrong about one thing: I am no fugitive." From his leather jerkin, he removed a rolled parchment which he tossed toward the priestess. "This morning I was granted an official pardon from one of the city leaders. The Ducal insignia on the orders appears to be genuine."

"This must be some kind of mistake..." Selena scanned the exonerating document, but could find no apparent faults. "Why would a Duke of Baldur's Gate have you set free?"

"A more pressing question is how said orders ended up in the hands of a criminal gang that dared an attempt to control me like a slave. That is why I am willing to set aside our past conflicts... I have some affairs to settle with the man known as Cordas."

Selena saw that Cerdan was on his feet and gesturing with his bound hands at the gag over his mouth. Keeping the mercenary in sight, she began to remove the rope around his wrists.

Dace suddenly pointed at Norris, "I overheard you say that you wanted Cordas dead. I can help you reach that goal, but this service does not come freely." The mercenary tilted his gaze slightly, staring directly across into Selena's eyes. "I require a written contract for my part this mission."

"This is madness," she scoffed, "If you think I'll sully my reputation by keeping company such as yours, you're terribly mistaken."

Cerdan immediately interrupted as the gag was removed from his mouth. "Hold on there, priestess. Maybe you shouldn't be so quick to judge such an opportunity."

The priestess of Tyr turned her head and gaped at the thief.

"Oh, don't give me that look. I'm the head of a very illegal band of thieves who regularly commit very illegal activities. Believe me, I've worked with people who are far more vile and wicked than this chap." He tossed his bonds aside, "Sure, he had me tied me up just now, but I don't hold a grudge. It's a distant cry from damage he dealt to the other fellow he's got roped up in the back room..." His shoulders gave a shrug in reply to the anger on her face. "Sometimes, people just need to swallow their pride. Even elves like us, Selena."

Dace slammed his boot heel against the floor to claim their attention once more. "Enough idling. Let me make this issue of trust clear: I _cannot _be trusted. In any other situation, were I to gain by doing so, I would not hesitate to stab you in the back.

"However, I am a professional." The mercenary let a hand disappear into another pocket. "I will obey the terms of any formal contract we establish, provided that none of you turn against me. And if you require an additional token to go with my offer..." He whipped a black disc through the air, prompting the others to step back slightly as it touched the ground near Selena's feet.

The red-haired elf stared down at the object with wide eyes, then quickly snatched it up, holding it high. "The second Sigil... great gods, where did you find this artifact!"

"A consolation payment from the day Verskul attempted to destroy the city. I faced considerable obstacles reclaiming it. Think on that before you so quickly dismiss my momentary goodwill."

Glancing toward the others, the priestess could tell that Norris and Cyrael were suspicious of the mercenary, though neither was upset enough to refuse his offer out loud. Come to think of it, beyond the astral deva's word, Selena didn't even have much reason to trust Norris either. Even Cerdan's motives were starting to seem questionable.

Sighing to herself, the priestess shook her head of these doubts and reluctantly lowered her weapon arm. This was no time to develop paranoia. Adhering to duty was her objective. If she had to endure the presence of morally bankrupt types like Norris and Dace, then so be it.

At least the celestial was here among them. That gave her some reassurance that they were indeed following the just path laid out by Tyr.

Locking eyes with the mercenary, Selena spoke for the group, "I take it you have a price for your... services?"

"Two conditions. First, you swear an oath that I shall not be arrested or harmed, by any of you, during or after this mission. Also, I demand safe passage out of the city to a place of my choosing when I decide that our task is done. Preferably by boat." He shifted his eyes toward Cerdan. "I imagine your guild has ample resources for that."

"Fine," said Selena, "but only if you agree not to kill anyone we meet. I cannot and will not condone murder for any reason, regardless of the circumstances. How I wish we had a wizard with a geas spell available."

"So be it. I will retrieve the local thug who possesses the information we need." He started for one of the rooms back the way he came and called over his shoulder, "I want my conditions in writing."

"So do I!" Selena shot back, refusing to let him have the last word.

Selena glowered at the black-hearted mercenary while the others seemed to calm down slightly. Cerdan moved off without a word, probably to fetch writing implements for the aforementioned contract. The priestess sniffed indignantly, disappointed that the guildmaster would be so quick to toss aside all their past experience with the mercenary. The half-wit was likely overeager to make a new contact for his criminal network. How utterly appalling.

Cyrael suddenly laid a hand upon Selena's shoulder, leaning in slightly toward her ear. "Be wary of that one, for he carries within him more than can be seen with the eye alone. Mark these words, and know that I speak the truth: So long as the dark soul remains here, there will be a betrayal from within this party."

She nodded in response, somewhat annoyed that the celestial was telling her what she already knew. Of course the mercenary was a threat to their safety. The question was what contingencies Selena could prepare in the time that she had just bought through their uneasy alliance...

(1:35)

_Such cold and sparse furnishings_, Cordas thought to himself, _certainly a marked difference to my main office. Not even a chair to rest upon_. He checked his pocketwatch again. Hopefully the crimelord's agents would be ready to strike in a short while. After that, there would be no going back.

This would have been the time for him to check in with Lord Pryus once more, but because Cordas' mirror was still in the office back at his estate, Pryus would have no choice but to wait in silence. The red lord had eyes everywhere, and Cordas knew he couldn't risk leaving this hideaway place. Sighing audibly, the crimelord wished that he'd brought some tea along to calm his nerves.

"Sir," spoke one of his men, "Norris has arrived at the estate. Apparently he has a band of allies alongside for aid."

"Oh? That's surprising, especially for him. No matter. Is there any sign that they're aware of the safe room?"

"I cannot say. But I assure you, they won't find us."

The old man nodded, he already knew that. At this point, Norris was nothing more than an afterthought. He'd be done with soon enough, probably long before the poison killed him. Nonetheless, Cordas checked the vial of antidote and made sure it was still secure in his breast pocket. "What of our agents? Have they taken up their assigned positions yet?"

"Aye, they've been instructed to slay anyone they find as soon as they enter their target building. It will commence as soon as the new hour dawns."

Cordas nodded and dismissed the underling, returning to his thoughts. Right now, his major concern was the seizure of the Sigils. The two artifacts would appease Pryus, but after that Cordas knew he would have to relocate to another city if he wanted to truly sever all ties with his domineering lord.

The old man closed the face of the pocketwatch, but continued to hold it in his palm. The players were set, and the pieces were already moving. All that remained was a measure of patience for just a few more hours.

(1:38)

"It doesn't look like you hurt him in self-defense," Selena dryly observed. Dace shrugged and continued to tie Tavros to the heavy oak table. As she surveyed the unclean walls of the small storage room, the priestess began to regret giving her approval for an interrogation of this henchman. "In fact, judging by his wounds, it looks like you intentionally beat him just short of causing permanent damage."

"Any injuries that he sustained, he brought on himself." The mercenary tugged the rope around Tavros' wrist before stepping back a moment to ensure that everything was in place.

The elven woman's better sense was telling her to leave this corrupt place and report the matter the nearest city guardsman as quickly as possible. Simply being in the presence of this vile murderer made her feel like a lesser being.

And yet, part of her also felt honour-bound to remain here and let events unfold. Some implicit obligation to Cerdan for all the times he'd helped her over the past few years, perhaps?

_Duty takes priority to any minor moral doubts I may have_, she justified, _No choice but to lay aside my own misgivings and see this through, regardless of how ethically weak these people may be. It's up to me to find this Cordas, as well as Caden the Bloodletter_.

That last name lingered at the forefront of her mind as she watched Dace secure the prisoner. The Prelate had described the Bloodletter as a cold, merciless mass-murderer with no qualms about slaughtering his own underlings. Selena couldn't shake the nagging sense of apprehension when she looked at Dace. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the Bloodletter was cut of the same cloth as the black-hearted mercenary before her.

Selena pulled Cerdan aside and began to whisper in elvish, "This isn't right. I fear we may be making a mistake by putting our faith in this monster. He could easily turn his back on this so-called 'contract' and murder us all." The priestess touched her holy symbol of Tyr. "Especially the two of us; we're the ones responsible for sending him to prison in the first place!"

Cerdan tapped his chin. "As I recall, all we did level the charges against him. _He_ pleaded guilty to every crime I was able to uncover from his past. He didn't even try to contest your accusations. I tell you, he's a strange one, but I don't think he has the mentality of the usual traitorous crooks we tend to encounter."

"You are taking a terribly large risk, you realize."

The rogue grinned, "That's how I keep my life interesting. Come now, don't you trust my judgment?"

"I'm seriously starting to wonder," she said, not returning the smile. "I feel unwell remaining near this criminal. Perhaps I should check on Norris and the celestial."

The rogue nodded and opened the door for her. As she passed, she leaned in close to his ear. "Mind him carefully, and make sure he doesn't harm the captive any further. I won't stand for _any_ killing, justified or not, and I will hold you responsible should this man succumb to death."

(1:42)

Cerdan poked his head outside as she disappeared down the hall, then quickly closed the door and turned toward Dace.

"She has the right heart," said the elf, shaking his head with a slight smile. "But gods help her if she isn't a little naive to the way things work in the real world." Cerdan nodded toward Tavros. "Think he'll tell us where this Cordas fellow is hiding?"

Dace reached for his belt and removed a long steel dagger, "Not without persuasion. You do not share the priestess' hesitation, I take it."

"Of course not, though I did promise that he'd be kept alive."

"He will live long enough to talk. If you object, then have the priestess try to send me off to prison again." The mercenary ran a finger across the blade of the weapon. He kept his eyes fixed on the edge, not even paying the elf a glance. "Lancam's Isle is a harsh place, you know. Were I a less disciplined man, I would have slain both you and your companions the moment I recognized your face.

"But I am stable enough to recognize my past actions, and there is no gain from holding grudges for a fate that I deserved." He suddenly slammed the dagger point-first into the table, letting it quiver on end in the space between the unconscious prisoner's legs. "But mark this: I take my work seriously, and the last three employers that failed to honour their contracts are all dead. Do not forget that you will owe me transport from this city."

Cerdan arched an eyebrow. "My, everyone's grown so bold today! Threatening the guildmaster seems to be turning into a trend. Rest assured, mercenary, I'm a man of my word."

"One more weakness on your part. So be it. Now, it is time we woke Tavros."

(1:46)

The heavy teapot smashed into the office wall, falling to the floor in dozens of wet ceramic shards. Judging by the lingering warmth of the tea, Norris knew that he had just missed Cordas. The crimelord most likely fled through the mirror portal that stood at the very back of the room, sealing it before they arrived. The ranger glared across into the mirror's reflection and was disgusted by the sickly, sunken-eyed man that stared back.

Norris tore his gaze away and briefly considered destroying another piece of the antique tea set that sat atop the old man's desk. But deep down, the ranger knew that Cordas likely wouldn't even care; the old man never let himself get attached to possessions.

"And just what purpose have you achieved through your wanton destruction?" asked Cyrael. Norris scowled at the annoying sound of the outworlder's echoing voice. "Does shattering this mortal's belongings sate your gnawing hunger for vengeance?"

"I'll feel better when I see the last breath leave Cordas' lips."

"But will that be the end? What do you expect to receive, should you succeed in slaying him? Praise? Your honour as a ranger?"

Norris waved his hand, gesturing for the celestial to leave him be. "You keep talking as if you think I have a life to look forward to. I have less than a day left to live, no less than I deserve..."

"Why is it so crucial that you hold your anger so tightly?" Cyrael asked, placing his hands together.

Norris levelled his gaze at the mirror again. "...Because it's mine. Because it's all I have."

"You may have more in your favour than you think," Cyrael whispered.

After he spoke, the elven priestess entered and leaned in close to the deva. "Dace is downstairs questioning the captive. It may take some time before we learn anything."

"You did not send away the blackheart? Nothing good will come of his partaking in our quest."

"Yes, well, my friend seems to disagree. As much as I want to be free of the murderer, Cerdan believes he could be an asset. For what it's worth."

The celestial frowned at this, "I see... mayhap the thief has his reasons. But know this: none shall be safe in the blackheart's company."

"Safe..." Norris echoed, staring at the broken ceramic on the ground. "When I worked for him before, Cordas had a hidden safe room down in the basement. A hideaway spot in case the town guards ever busted the brothel. Perhaps we'll find someone hiding down there."

As the ranger moved past, Selena gave a slight nod. "Very well. Lead the way."

(1:50)

"Ten minutes to two," Cordas said to his pocketwatch. "It has likely started by now."

One of his underlings cleared his throat. "And what shall we do about Norris and his allies?"

"Mm, it won't be of much consequence, even if they do manage to activate Pryus' mirror." The old man ran a thumb along the base of his jaw. "Still, perhaps we should be certain. Have the Easterner brought before me. We may as well make use of that one until he has expired."

The agent clicked his boots against the stone floor and proceeded toward the door.

"And don't forget to bring my disguise!" Cordas called after the man, "There is only a short time left to prepare."

(1:51)

In the nobles' district of the city, a small group of men and women turned off the main city street, making their way up the clean marble path to the Tower of Tyr. Up ahead, the band's leader could see a number of knights standing guard at the entry gates. As the band neared, they could see that there was a small crowd of city residents, mostly peasants, many sporting various wounds or clutching crying babies. Despite the throng's pleas, the paladins were turning away the impoverished folk without so much as a sympathetic word. Interestingly enough, the knights seemed to be permitting entry to those with much more regal attire.

"Excuse me, my lords and ladies," said one of the gate paladins, bowing low to the band's leader. "If you require temple services, I'm afraid you must each be searched. There was a slight incursion here this morning, and we must be vigilant."

The lead man adjusted the folds of his silk sash and removed his feathered hat, dabbing at his brow with a kerchief. "Then do so, paladin, and be quick about it! We have little desire to remain out here in the blazing sun, lest it burn our complexion." He gripped the metal emblem that was affixed to the sash over his breast. "And keep your filthy hands away from our insignias. These clearly mark us as official representatives of Duke Ryloch and I'll not let you sully them with your touch, in case such etiquette is forgotten in whatever low social circles you frequent."

Remaining silent though the berating, the gate paladins hurried to finish their search of the nobles' clothing, but found no weapons or thieves' tools on their persons. The knights quickly waved for the group to pass through, then returned their attention to barring entry to the pleading peasant folk.

Sniffing slightly, the lead man swept his hat back on and moved past the gate threshold, leading the rest of his company in tow. They made a direct line for the golden statue of Tyr at the centre of the spacious foyer and paused for a moment to gaze up at the stern visage on the idol's face.

"Ugly ol' bastard, ain't he?" mumbled the leader under his breath. His comrades chuckled quietly and nodded in consent. Without waiting further, the 'nobles' spread out around the statue's platform, taking positions so that they were spread evenly around the circular base.

The leader glanced around at the paladins and clerics scurrying about like fools. Satisfied that no one was watching, he looked back to ensure that his own people were in their places, all facing outward from the statue and with their hands ready at their sides.

A smirk appeared on the man's face as he heard the city clock tower begin to chime in the distance. He flexed his fingers and spoke aloud, "Time to begin."

In unison, each 'noble' reached for the Ducal insignia on his or her silk sash and nonchalantly tore the emblem away. The leader closed his eyes and shouted a series of arcane words that Cordas had instructed him to speak. Immediately, the company's emblems blazed to life like blue fires, and the men and women pitched the missiles down, smashing the objects upon the temple floor before them.

By this time, the followers of Tyr had taken notice and were now advancing on the group, but it was too late. The emblems simultaneously exploded on the ground, sending an azure shockwave outward in a circle, away from the nobles' at the middle room. The infiltrators stood impassively as the magical force left a massive wave of cold in its wake, freezing a thick layer of ice over the ground and any objects that were caught in the blast.

Each paladin or cleric was immobilized, instantly frozen from the ground up, many with their swords partly drawn or hands raised in mid-spell. A few seconds was all it took for the frigid damage to rob the last heartbeats from the faithful of Tyr.

The lead saboteur smirked and pulled his hat down tightly, satisfied that the magic woven into their expensive attire would spare them from the icy death. He licked his lips slightly as he stared at the morbid ice statues around the wide foyer, certain that Cordas would be satisfied with their results thus far.

Now it was time for the real fun to start.

**(2:00 PM)**

**Note:** All author's notes will be posted in my forum from now on.


	10. Trial by Ice

**Trial by Ice**

**(2:00 PM)**

Dace sat perfectly still, alert and unblinking, watching from the corner of his eye as Tavros weakly attempted to struggle from his bonds. The incompetent thug was still pretending to be unconscious, Dace could have called the man's bluff at any time, but instead chose to remain silent; it was amusing to watch him squirm. No doubt Tavros' mind was filled with worry and panic.

Interrogations against his type usually took time and patience, the mercenary knew this well. But it was a far more extensive process than just mindlessly pummelling the victim. One had to use weakness… exploiting whatever insecurities and doubts were burrowed in the subject's mind. As with all things, the _controlled _use of force was the key. And speaking of control…

"Open your eyes, Tavros. I know you are already awake. I saw you peek while the priestess was here." Dace waited, but Tavros persisted in his charade of unconsciousness. Leaning forward, the mercenary placed the tip of his dagger against the thug's bottom eyelid and began to steadily increase the amount of applied pressure.

Moments later, Tavros' other eye flipped open. "Okay, you caught me! Stop that, you filthy mule's son!"

Dace let the blade linger in its place, then unceremoniously yanked the weapon away, leaving behind a gash that looked like a bloody teardrop. Tavros blinked his eye rapidly as it began to water.

"Why are you even working with them? Some idiot elves and a freak with a weird voice… I thought your reputation was that of a criminal, not some faithmonger's lackey."

The mercenary shaved a sliver of wood from the table's edge, letting the blade pass dangerously close to the man's fingers. "I know your kind," said Dace, "You gather together like stray pack dogs, and then delude yourselves into believing that you're the masters of your pathetic domain. As if beating up beggars and extorting spineless merchants proves that you have strength." He suddenly drove the dagger into the table, grazing Tavros' cheek. The victim's head flinched, and a spot of blood began to run down his face.

"But you arrogant thugs eventually overstep your bounds. You become so proud and complacent that you think you can seize a man, ply him with promises or rewards, and then _own_ him… _control_ him. That one, fatal mistake that leads you to anger the man with the blade." Dace grabbed the underside of Tavros' jaw and forced his head up. "Someone once sought to control me, long before you were even born. It was an… enlightening experience. I swore that no living person would _ever_ have such power over me again."

He released Tavros' chin and instead gripped the henchman's right earlobe, holding the ear away from the man's head. Knife in hand, Dace carefully set the edge against the base of the ear. "That is why I plan to kill whatever employer you answer to. You are the pure representation of what I _hate_, and that is no small distinction to achieve."

Tavros screamed as Dace slowly began to cut into his ear. "Ahhh! S-stop, stop please! The elf – the elf said not to harm me!" The mercenary suddenly cuffed the thug on one of his bruises, then pulled a cloth from his pocket and used it to gag Tavros while he was stunned.

"You think the words of the priestess will save you?" asked Dace as he resumed cutting into the thug's ear. Tavros kept screaming, but Dace remained focused and watched his bloody handiwork intently. Ignoring the muffled cries, Dace continued speaking, even though Tavros was far beyond anything that would be said. "I am not like the priestess, or the thief, or even that lamenting ranger. I am the 'other'. The monster. I choose to associate with them only because it furthers my goal to reach Cordas, nothing more. I have far outgrown whatever concepts of 'honour' exist for _their _kind." His voice had fallen to little more than a controlled whisper against Tavros' pained wails.

"They are not here to help you. No one is coming to your rescue. Face the fate you made for yourself, Tavros. Accept this, and it just might save you before you die. Otherwise, you can do nothing but die without dignity like an animal…" Dace fell silent and calmly continued to work on his victim's ear.

(2:07)

Stepping carefully to avoid slipping on the soapy floor, High Prelate Saudere crouched to examine the mess on the ground of the private chamber. A few of the golden husks were still unhatched. The Prelate picked up one of the small golden beads from the floor of Selena's quarters and held the object before the lantern light. Though difficult to make out, Saudere saw what appeared to be an insect of some sort, feebly trying to breach the bead wall.

The Prelate let the bead fall to the floor, then smashed it under the heel of his boot. "The priestess released the golden insects through the tower… to what purpose?" He turned and faced the two people standing against the door. "You there, what did you say your name was?"

They answered simultaneously.

"The name's Villet, sir, and –"

"I am Charell, my lord. We –"

The Prelate shot a dark glare at the boy. "Silence, acolyte. I will deal with you soon enough."

Villet frowned and folded his arms, looking away. The cleric standing beside the acolyte cleared her throat and tugged at the collar of her robe. "As I said, High Prelate, my name is Charell. Originally, I was supposed to be the liaison for your visit, but you requested Selena Shademoor instead, so I had to switch duties with her."

"What do you know about this mess?"

"Well, she asked me to bring that bouquet of horrid flowers to her room. I don't know much more than –"

The acolyte piped up again, "The priestess is up to something, sir! She _planted_ those beads with the bugs in them, and they've stung almost everyone in the building. Except me and the cleric here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pasted-together scrap of paper. "And look at this! She's a traitor, too!"

Saudere sneered and snatched the sheet from the child. "What is the nonsense? You are trying my patience, boy."

"After the bugs cleared, I came back to her room and found some torn up paper in an envelope on her desk. I pieced it back together myself. It's a letter from someone sneaky. She's a traitor, I just know –"

Charell suddenly boxed the boy on the ears. "You _stole_ from a priestess of Tyr! Acolyte, when Priestess Shademoor learns of the lies you've been spreading against her good name, you will be cast out of the Order so quickly that –"

"Hold!" The Prelate's voice cut through the cleric's rant as he stared down at the letter. "If this is a genuine article, then it may be the priestess who should be cast out." He scanned the page a second time. The priestess was told to 'bring money' to someone? The black-scored lettering did not look like any common script. A criminal's mark, perhaps. What further upset the Prelate was the signature at the bottom… a simple, black 'C'.

"For Caden?" he wondered aloud. He gripped the sheet in tightening fists as he considered the possibility that Selena might be in congress with the vile Bloodletter.

"Sir?"

Saudere quickly folded the letter and placed it in a pocket. He pointed at the two faithful in turn. "Acolyte, go summon some of my royal horsemen. Cleric, have a diviner determine the purpose and source of these golden insects. I _will_ uncover whatever deceit that elf has been hiding."

(2:13)

Swallowing the lump that had appeared in her throat, Charell gave a quick bow to the Prelate, then opened the door. As she stepped outside, the cleric was nearly bowled over by a pair of paladins rushing past. One of them paused for a moment and caught her by the hand. In one of the knight's arms was a bundle of torches.

"Cleric Charell, I must ask if you have the ability to cast any spells with magical fire. If so, it is imperative that you assist us."

"Why is this so important?" she asked, brow furrowing.

The paladin pointed down the hall. "We have a situation on our hands."

Charell stepped around the open door and looked past the paladin toward the hallway. About halfway to the end, around the tower's stairwell, was a massive wall of solid ice. The blockage extended from wall to wall and ceiling to floor, effectively trapping them on their side of the ice. What was disturbing was a frost-covered hand sticking out of the barrier. Moving closer to the cold wall, Charell saw that one of their younger clerics had been caught in the ice; the grey-blue colour of his flesh betrayed the fact that he was already dead.

"High Prelate?" she said, turning around to face Saudere and Villet as they emerged from the room behind her. "Priestess Shademoor is going to have to wait… things are becoming much worse."

(2:15)

"Huh. It feels much colder than I would expect, probably something magical inside," Cerdan said, pressing his ear to the metal door. He jiggled the handle on the safe again. "Certainly not a magical lock, though, those are too easily dispelled. No, this is definitely an advanced mechanism. There's no visible keyhole, and I don't think we'll have the time to search the building for a switch; if this thing was meant to keep out the city guard, a complete search could take weeks." The thief stepped back a moment and stroked his chin. "It's been a while since I had to get creative on a job like this."

"Ugh. Just hurry up," muttered Norris. "I want it open as quickly as possible!"

"Tsk, tsk. Well, maybe you'd like to yell at the door? If you hurt its feelings enough, I'm sure it'll swing right open!"

Selena shook her head as she listened to them squabble. Such harsh tones would never spoken among her colleagues in the Order. Sighing audibly, the priestess wondered what the High Prelate might be doing back at the Tower of Tyr. Probably still on his crusade to find that war criminal. Speaking of which…

"What connection do you have with Caden the Bloodletter?" she demanded, breaking into their conversation.

Cerdan stopped what he was doing and looked over at her. "…What did you say?"

"Not you, him!" Selena pointed at Norris. "Tell me how you are related with the Bloodletter."

Norris shook his head, a look of contempt still engraved on his face. "I don't know what in the Nine Hells you're babbling about."

Cyrael seemed to have a confused look on his face as well. "The Bloodletter? How ironic that you should happen to speak that name…"

"I beg your pardon, celestial, but of what do you speak?"

The astral deva opened his mouth, but hesitated and quickly shook his head and made a dismissive wave of his hand. "I apologize, priestess. I misspoke." He gestured to Norris and Cerdan, "Please continue with your quest."

As the thief and ranger slowly returned to their discussion about the vault, Cyrael leaned in close to Selena and whispered in her ear. Selena had to strain her ears to clearly make out the words in the celestial's echoing voice. "Know this much: Caden the Bloodletter is a unique mortal. Focused and violent… far unlike your kind. There is little else that I am free to say on this matter, save that the Bloodletter you speak of is closer than you realize."

Selena matched the serious gaze in the celestial's eyes. "You mean… Dace?"

"I can say nothing more," he whispered, "But I pray that you now understand my concerns about the dark-hearted one."

The priestess swallowed and looked away, wondering how she should respond to this new development. "I only let him remain with the group because he was of lesser concern; my personal distaste for his kind has to be suppressed if we are to find this Cordas." Selena rubbed her temples as she thought. "He was to be a means to an end, and nothing more. And so long as he remains here, working for us, then I know that he isn't running amok, committing atrocities in the rest of the city. But if _he_ is the one that the High Prelate has been hunting all along, then that changes everything…"

The elven woman blinked and suddenly snapped her head toward Cerdan, raising her voice to a shout. "Wait, why are you here! You were supposed to be keeping an eye on the criminal!"

"Oh, right. Don't worry about him. I'm quite certain he knows what he's doing." The rogue smiled back at her, "Besides, I saw the rest of you heading down to the basement, and I didn't want to miss out on whatever fun you were planning to cook up."

"Are you completely insane! If the mercenary has done anything to harm the prisoner…"

A scream echoed through the hallway from upstairs. Selena widened her eyes and shook her head in horror, "No… I won't let it happen! What was I even thinking!" She raced for the stairs, pausing only to glance back and level an accusing finger at Cerdan. "This is _your_ doing. _Don't _think you can smile or joke your way out of this crime. I swear that I will see you in chains if that man dies!"

(2:25)

There was a long gash running along Tavros' right arm, showing where a great deal of the man's skin and flesh had been cut off. Bloody rivulets were dripping down his arm, leaving a red pool on the table. Dace winced at the sight. Not because he was perturbed by the gruesome wounds, but because he was disappointed by the quality of his own work.

A few years ago, he would have been able to inflict the same damage with a minimum of blood. Presently, Dace guessed that he had hit an artery or two by accident. If Tavros began bleeding any faster, then Dace knew he would have to start working faster. But Tavros' screams had degraded into whimpers, and Dace felt that pushing the man harder might cause him to break down incoherently.

The door burst open and Selena rushed into the room with her steel mace in hand. "Stop what you're doing immediately and move away from that man! He was to be questioned, not tortured!"

Even as the priestess advanced on him, Dace never broke his gaze from Tavros' eyes. The elf woman was little more than a pest, hovering at the edge of the mercenary's field of vision. "You think her presence here will change anything, Tavros? I still have yet to hear the answers I want."

"I said step away from him!" Selena came closer and prepared to swing her mace across at the mercenary's mid-section.

Dace spoke evenly, "Hold, priestess." His arm went out to the side and he began pressing his bloody dagger against Tavros's throat. Selena paused, but maintained a solid grip on her own weapon. Judging by the heaviness of her breathing, Dace guessed that the elf was genuinely prepared to severely injure him… just to save a single incompetent gang member.

"Your courage is commendable, elf… but your audacity is not. Be aware, I am quite capable of killing both you and your two allies."

"I have three allies on my side," she growled.

"Of course you believe that. I would remind you that we require the information this man carries." He pressed the blade a bit higher, forcing Tavros to weakly tilt his head back.

"You swore you wouldn't kill him!"

"Indeed. But I made no promise regarding physical harm in general. If he withholds answers and bleeds to death as a result, then it is his own free choice to die with his secrets," Dace said, looking down at Tavros to ensure the man was listening. "I have given you ample chance to save yourself. If you would rather let yourself expire than ignore what loyalties you cling to, it is not my place to prevent you from dying."

Selena cut in, "That's enough, knave. I will not warn you ag–"

Without saying a word, Dace suddenly withdrew the blade and took a few paces back. Shooting a suspicious glare at the mercenary, the priestess moved to the torture victim's side and stood so that she could watch Dace out of the corner of her eye. She set her mace down and immediately started moving her hands, tracing a purple-tinged magical symbol in the air.

Dace watched patiently, not at all concerned by the elf's intervention. In truth, he was partly relieved by her entry. The mercenary knew that Tavros was nearing the threshold; any more pressure, and the henchman would likely break down mentally. To continue the interrogation, Tavros needed to feel some false hope.

Selena made a quick gesture, and the casting symbol shifted into a pale shade of blue that enveloped her hand before vanishing. The priestess gently touched her hand to Tavros' arm and caused the gash to slowly seal itself, though the bloodstains remained along his skin and clothing. Dace watched as she sighed audibly, apparently relieved that she was 'saving' the incompetent.

When she leaned forward to more closely inspect the damage on the man's ear, Dace swiftly came forward, grabbed the elf by the shoulders, and shoved her away in the direction of the door. His knife appeared in his hand, and the mercenary wasted no time slashing Tavros' arm open again.

As the man's screams flooded the room once more, Selena gaped at the mercenary in absolute horror. "Stop that, you demon! I don't have enough magic to heal him indefinitely!" She lunged forward for her mace, but Dace batted the weapon away off the table and to the floor.

He grabbed Tavros by the hair. "You heard her, if you do not start talking, you _will_ die here for no worthy reason or purpose."

"Enough! I am hereby placing you under arrest for–"

Cerdan appeared behind the priestess and firmly seized her by the arms. "Perhaps we should leave the mercenary to finish his work before we make any harsh judgments on his methods…"

"Let go of me!" she shouted as he dragged her out of the room. "No, we have to stop him, he's going to kill that man!"

Dace followed and slammed the door shut as soon as the priestess was dragged outside. "Now, Tavros, let me ask you something." He locked the door and placed a chair beneath the knob for good measure. "Do you expect Cordas to shed any tears at your funeral? Do you think he will care enough to even give you a funeral?"

The mercenary returned to the table and grabbed Tavros by the good ear. "Wake up. Your lord doesn't care what happens to you. Your suffering means nothing to him. Are you that willing to continue enduring so much without cause?"

Dace tapped his knife on the table. "It is time for us to continue, this time without interruption."

(2:33)

"Step aside! I won't ask you again." She grabbed the elf by the shoulder to push him out of the way, but only succeeded in wiping off the blood on her hand and staining his leather jerkin.

The thief stood resolutely and shook his head slightly. "Sorry, priestess, but you aren't the only one with duties to fulfill. I need to find Cordas so I can get a read on his part in the attacks on my guild." Cerdan cocked his head to the side. "Why are you so concerned about this one man? We all have to crack a bad egg or two, eventually, if we want to make progress."

The priestess narrowed her eyes at the thief. "I refuse to accept that. There must be a better way." There had to be, she could believe in nothing less. Selena closed her eyes and sighed, holding the bridge of her nose for a moment. "I want to find Caden the Bloodletter. But in carrying out my duty, I can't let another person suffer by my actions. That would make me little more than an unfeeling zealot. Don't force me down that path."

"Hm. You shouldn't be worried about the Bloodletter," Cerdan murmured, "But I still can't let you through."

The priestess' cheek flinched and she briefly made a fist. If she moved fast enough, she could probably disable the thief with a knee to the groin, but then she would have no way of getting past the locked door. Her mace was still inside, and she knew she didn't have the right build to ram it down alone.

Selena leveled her gaze at Cerdan and jabbed an accusing finger at him. "You've crossed a line here. I thought you were different, better than _his_ type. I should never have placed my trust in you."

"What trust? You won't even tell me your name."

"You know my name!"

"Not your real one."

"Wh–" She paused and ran a finger along her brow. He was trying to sidetrack her again. "No more of this. I'm leaving, and I'm going to round up the local authorities." She backed away from Cerdan. "When I return, you'd best hope that you and your black-hearted ally are far away from here."

"I'm disappointed to hear you say that. We'll see how things turn out," he replied.

_What was _that _supposed to mean?_ She thought to herself. The elven woman hurried through the building to the basement stairs and made her way down. There had been times before when Cerdan angered her, but those were due to his juvenile antics and eccentricities. This time, she felt she had caught a glimpse of his true colours beneath the shallow exterior. And it left her even more upset than ever before. But what was to be expected? He was just a thief, after all.

On the other hand, he was a thief who had twice saved her life in the past. She sighed and pushed the thought aside, choosing to focus on the here and now. This was not a good day to waste time thinking about an ethical dilemma.

Cyrael raised an open palm toward the elf as she approached. "Priestess, you return. Does the light prevail in your presence?"

She shook her head. "Dace is still torturing that poor man, and Cerdan dares to permit it. I require your assistance; I need you to intercede and hold them both on guard while I seek assistance from the nearest constabulary."

As she spoke, Cyrael's expression seemed to fall. "Alas, good priestess, this I cannot do. As I have told you, my prime mandate involves this one," he said, nodding in Norris' direction. "I can do nothing to intervene on the other man's behalf, nor am I permitted to raise my blade against your elven friend."

Selena followed his gaze and saw that the ranger was still obsessing over the metal door, apparently trying to run a flat piece of wood between the cracks, for whatever reason. She found it pitiful to see a man fall so far and become so lost in a lust for vengeance. The sad part was that he wasn't the first person that she had seen on such a single-minded quest today.

The ranger definitely needed help, and she was glad to know that the celestial had such a strong devotion for his ward. Nonetheless, it pained her that the man on the floor above would continue suffering in her absence. There was no more time to waste here.

"So be it. I am disappointed, but I think I understand," she said. The priestess gave a short bow, then briskly made her way back to the stairs, knowing that every second mattered. "I will summon aid and return as soon as I can."

(2:40)

Tavros was beginning to look deathly pale, and his breathing had grown raspy. Regardless of how critical the man appeared, Dace showed no signs of easing his methods. "I must commend your willingness to perish for such an uncaring employer like Cordas. And here I thought you might just be a simple man, the sort who only joined a sub-par gang for money and protection."

The man's eyes fluttered, "N-no…"

"Speak if you have something to say!"

Sweat was running from Tavros' brow almost as quickly as the blood dripping down his arm and side. "P-Pryus… he controls us. Cordas owes him a debt. He's the one you want… not Cordas." He hesitated, having little energy left to spare. "Please, I don't know where… Cordas has gone. My legs feel numb."

The silence hung in the air for a few moments before Dace unfolded his arms. "Not good enough. I am beginning to believe that you have done nothing but waste my time here."

"Wha–?"

Dace circled around the table and, striking out four times with his blade, slashed the ropes holding Tavros down. The henchman rolled over on his side and began to curl up, clutching his bleeding arms. The mercenary kicked the table over, sending Tavros crashing to the floor. Seizing the man by the arm, Dace unlocked the door and dragged the man outside, dumping him in the hallway.

"You have already lost a great deal of blood," Dace said, "At least two important arteries are severed and still bleeding." He crouched beside the man and pointed to the front doors at the end of the hall. "Your freedom lies there."

Dace removed a coin from his pocket and flipped it at Tavros' feet. "I will bet you one copper that you bleed to death before you can make it outside. We are concluded." With that said, Dace wiped his dagger off on Tavros' shoulder, then stood and walked away. "If you deserve to survive, then you will."

(2:45)

The Prelate scrutinized the grey flesh of the hand sticking out of the ice wall. "How many men would have been lost in the ice spell below?" Saudere asked. Thus far, only two of his royal horsemen had reported in, and he feared that they were the only ones to escape the frozen wave.

Charell blanched. "The lower levels would have been swarming with our paladins and faithful. After the robbery from the basement vault this morning, we felt additional floor guards were a precaution."

The Prelate grumbled in response as he surveyed the few knights before him, all ineffectually trying to melt the ice wall with torches. Some clerics were making equally poor progress as they attempted to break the barrier with hammers and maces.

Saudere glanced around, looking for some way to contribute, when he noticed the stained glass windows behind them at the end of the hall. "You are certain that we cannot leave via the windows?"

"Well, we _could_ try, but I wouldn't recommend it, sir. The outer walls of this tower weren't designed to accommodate a safe descent, and rope climbing is not a skill that is deemed a necessity in our training regimen. Our paladins rarely do much climbing, considering that they carry out their duties wearing full plate."

"Bah," scoffed Saudere, "then I will go down alone, if I must."

"Are you sure that's wise, High Prelate? I don't mean to comment on your physique, but–"

"Do not question me, cleric. I am fully capable and in top physical shape. My devotion to Tyr has kept me pure, in body as well as soul. Fetch some rope and whatever climbing gear you can find. We must make haste, before our attackers cause any more damage."

(2:47)

Norris glanced up, looked past the celestial, and saw Dace coming down the stairs toward them.

"It was a waste of my time. Tavros had no further information of value to us." Norris watched silently as the mercenary drew a grey rag from his pocket and began wiping the blood from his hands. "What progress has been made down here?"

Cyrael stepped forward, blocking the mercenary's path. The two gave empty stares at each other, and the room fell silent, save for the clicking sounds from the elf's work on the vault behind them.

Norris felt his lip twitch as he stepped up to the pair. "We think there's something of magical nature locked inside the safe. I think it may be important."

"But not so important that Cordas would take it with him upon leaving," Dace dryly observed.

Cyrael tilted his head down, glaring directly into the mercenary's eyes. "If you are so critical of our ways, then leave. Though I cannot raise hand against you, I will not abide by your ruthless ways."

"'Ruthless' is often another word for 'effective', outsider. Do not expect me to bow and prostrate myself in your holy presence," Dace said with a sneer locked on his lips. "I harm others. You wield a flaming sword, so I would presume that you do the same."

"I will not stand here to be compared with your kind, human." The celestial adjusted his coat and turned his back on the mercenary. "Mark this, blackheart: fate will find a way to punish you for your misdeeds."

"I do not believe in fate," the mercenary snapped as Cyrael moved toward the elf at the other end of the hall.

Norris remained silent as the exchange ended. Although his better sense was telling him to move after the celestial, a nagging voice in his mind told him not to follow like a newborn lap dog. If anything, he deserved to be grouped in with the blackhearted mercenary. The gods knew he was guilty of enough crimes.

"Have you something to say?"

Norris looked up and saw that Dace was eyeing him suspiciously. "No. I was just thinking that you and I are–"

"So you _do_ have something to say."

"… You and I are rather similar, don't you think? We've both been forced into these lives as hired killers."

Dace suddenly stopped cleaning the blood from his hands. "What?"

"I once worked for Cordas, you see. I needed to earn money that I – that my friends – desperately needed to afford critical healing services. So I became a hitman, and I gave up my honour as a result." The former ranger sighed and shook his head, "I suppose there is no peace for our kind."

He glanced up and noticed the look of disgust plain on Dace's face.

"Hear this, fool," said the mercenary, "We are _not_ of the same element. I commit evil acts, I have no illusions about that. But I walk this path out of choice. You walked it out of _lack_ of choice. So do not presume to sully my reputation by grouping yourself in the same lot as I." He paused for a moment and, with his clean hand, drew a dagger from beneath his cloak. Moving swiftly, Dace drove it blade-first into the wall beside Norris' head.

"If you are so caught up with finding 'peace', then you can either quit lamenting like a sad poet, or you can kill yourself." He flicked the hilt of the dagger and walked back down the stairs.

Again, Norris felt the corner of his lip twitch, but he said nothing. With some effort, he pried the blade from the wall and fixed it to his belt. He obviously made a mistake by talking with the blackheart. Perhaps he misjudged the situation after all. Perhaps he was too focused on the past rather than the present.

_Bah,_ he thought, _I think too much_. With that, he proceeded to the end of the hall and joined Cerdan and Cyrael near the vault door.

(2:52)

As he made his way up to the ground floor, Dace scratched at some of the blood that had dried on his hand. He could scarcely believe that Tavros was stupid enough to let himself bleed to death when he didn't even know anything important. Idiot gang members and their pride.

Dace walked up the last step and stopped when he saw what was waiting in the hallway. Tavros was facedown just a few feet from the front door. Judging by the massive trail of blood behind him and the paleness of his skin, he had expired.

More importantly, however, there was a man dressed in tan-coloured clothing kneeling beside the body, apparently checking for signs of life. Dace narrowed his eyes. This newcomer appeared to have foreign features that identified him as a Kara-Turian, or one of Kara-Turian descent.

The foreigner noticed Dace standing at the stairs, and slowly rose.

"Who are you, and whom do you serve?" demanded Dace. The reply was a babble of sharp, incomprehensible words. Whatever the Kara-Turian was saying, it didn't sound friendly or flattering.

Glancing down at Dace's hands, the foreigner's eyes narrowed slightly. In a flash, the warrior drew a steel-bladed katana and held it ready, stepping away from the body to clearer ground, keeping Dace in his sights. Apparently, the blood that stained the rag and Dace's hands told the foreigner all he needed to know.

Dace wiped his hands one last time, then tossed the cloth aside and drew a pair of daggers. This was his last set of weapons, but it would have to suffice against the warrior's blade. Facing the foreigner, Dace raised his daggers in an 'x' salute, then assumed a ready position away from the stairwell.

"So be it. Begin!"

(2:54)

Saudere grunted as he lowered himself down another foot, then let go of the rope and landed on his feet in the grass outside the tower. He quickly removed his gloves and used them to wipe the sweat from his brow. Climbing down turned out more difficult than he'd anticipated, but like all obstacles, he managed to overcome the challenge through sheer force of will. The Prelate glanced up and saw that two of his surviving royal horsemen were starting to descend via the same rope. Good to know that there were _some_ loyal men in this faithless city.

The Prelate made his way around the tower base, eventually finding a large crowd gathered at the front gates. There was a massive wall of ice completely blocking the entrance to the tower, but it appeared to have a rather large pit hollowed out near the middle. Presumably it was caused by the efforts of the wizards standing near the front of the crowd.

"High Prelate!" called a voice from the crowd. One of Saudere's other royal horsemen, the highest ranking one, in fact, emerged from the group. "I am relieved that you are well, sir." He saluted and gestured at the ice. "We brought in some of the local mages' guild, and they've made some progress melting the barrier."

"If they're guild members, why has the ice not been burned through completely? Surely they have the magical capacity to do so."

"I was told that they currently have very few skilled senior members. Apparently most of their number were killed a few years ago during some sort of wyvern attack on the city."

The Prelate nodded as he saw a battering ram being rolled into place in front of the hole in the ice wall. A squad of knights and city guardsmen quickly assumed positions on either side of the main gate.

"If they are going to penetrate the building now," said Saudere, "then I want to go in alongside the breaching party." He reached down and removed the strap that held the warhammer to his belt.

"Of course, sir. Please follow me."

In moments, the knight and Prelate were in position among the other paladins, and they waited as a group of guardsmen prepared the ram for use. A group of clerics stood nearby, casting spells upon the men and women preparing to enter the tower.

A few seconds later, the Prelate steeled himself, bringing his warhammer to bear as he watched the guardsmen hoist the ram back. The battering ram slammed forward, and the resulting crash echoed through the air. Cracks had formed in the ice wall, and Saudere knew they would see battle soon. After a third strike on the barricade, the ice finally crumbled, leaving a gap large enough for a few men to squeeze through at a time.

The breaching party slowly filtered into the building, but as the Prelate neared the gap he noticed there was no clanging of metal, nor any battle cries from within. When Saudere finally stepped through the ice into the great hall, he at first saw only a line of knights standing still near the entryway, all facing the inside of the ice-covered room.

"Step aside!" Saudere shouted at the paladins, "Let me through!" He pushed his way past the crowd, then froze in place at the sight before him. Every surface of the large, circular entry room was completely covered in blue sparkling ice, save for a small circle around the gold statue of Tyr at the centre.

Many frozen paladins and clerics who had been caught in the initial ice blast were scattered about the large foyer, each looking like a morbid blue-tinged statue. Even more shocking was that many of the frozen faithful appeared to have been amputated at the wrist or leg. One or two were even beheaded. The Prelate lowered his head and took some small solace in the fact that such mutilation must have occurred _after_ they were frozen; there was relatively little blood staining the ground.

"Where are the ones who did this?" Saudere whispered. For a long moment, there was no answer. He suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, "_Where are the ones who did this!_"

His royal horseman stepped forward, "They must have escaped through magical means. There does not appear to be any exit untouched by the ice wall, and the men outside assured me that no one has left the premises."

Saudere's left hand clenched into a fist. He would hunt down the people responsible for this desecration, even if it took–

"Hold, Prelate. Look there." The royal horseman pointed up at the statue of Tyr.

Saudere followed the hand direction and saw that a blade had somehow been stabbed dead centre into the statue's forehead. The weapon seemed to be pinning a white parchment in place.

Shortly after, one of the more agile city guards managed to scale his way to the top of the statue's shoulders, and he carefully retrieved the note before coming down and passing it to the Prelate. Saudere unfolded the parchment and his teeth began to grind as he read the words on the sheet.

The royal horseman cleared his throat. "What does it say, High Prelate?"

"It reads: _We remember Caden's Hill_," Saudere snarled as he looked down at the bottom of the page. "Gather all the able-bodied knights and city officers you can find. I want them to perform a sweep of all the low-class merchant districts in the city immediately. Tell them that they are to arrest any criminals they can find and hold them for questioning."

"Prelate Saudere? What makes you think this is necessary, sir?"

Saudere held up the sheet for the knight to see, and pointed to the symbol of a black mask that prominently adorned the bottom of the parchment. "In their arrogance, our enemies have shown their allegiance. This marking provides us with a new lead; Caden the Bloodletter is working with the Shadow Thieves."

**(3:00 PM)**

**Note:** All author's notes will be posted in my forum from now on.


	11. The Fine Art of Thievery

**The Fine Art of Thievery**

**(3:00 PM)**

Dace leaped back again, letting the easterner's katana swing past, nearly grazing the mercenary's leather armour. The foreigner was well trained, that much was certain; he moved like an expert soldier, keeping Dace on the defensive. Every attack he made was controlled and fluid, a far cry from the multitude of inept brawler types Dace had clashed with earlier. Compared to the Kara-Turian, their fighting styles had all the coordination of drunk goblins swinging heavy bars of lead.

The Kara-Tur warrior pressed his attack, forcing Dace to back away into the next room. They had only fought this one-sided battle for a few minutes, but Dace could already tell that he wouldn't win this fight with strength or speed. Whenever the easterner's blade went by, it would almost immediately double back, never affording Dace the opportunity to close within striking range with his own weapons. He barely even had time to deflect the katana with his daggers. No, this battle would take manipulation and cunning.

As the mercenary continued to evade the easterner's attacks, Dace began to chart out in his head the layout of the brothel. In his mind's eye, Dace could clearly recall every step of the building's floor plan in the areas that he passed through earlier. Without having to turn to see where he was going, Dace continued to step backward, confident that he could handle the Kara-Turian on his own.

(3:02)

Guild lieutenant Tomar glared out the office window, focusing his gaze at the Tower of Tyr while wondering just how collected his enemies were. Cerdan had departed alongside a yellow-robed woman on a marked warhorse. After consulting with a few of the guild's whisper-men, Tomar was convinced that the woman's markings identified her as an official of Tyr.

That sealed it. Cerdan was working with the faithmongers for some ulterior purpose. If the guildmaster was supplying them with information on the Shadow Thieves, it meant that Tomar was within his rights to supplant the wayward elf.

Someone knocked on the door, prompting Tomar to return to his desk. "Enter." Kretia came inside, accompanied by the now fully wakened guild officer, Seffron. Nodding to the pair, Tomar remarked, "Ah, good. Now all three of us lieutenants are here. How are you feeling?"

Seffron gave a half-smile and leaned on Kretia when she offered her arm to him for support. The pony-tailed man spoke, "Still weak. Our healer says I should rest, but how can I do that when there's still so much crime to commit and enemies to confound? I think I'm falling behind on my confounded enemy quota today."

Tomar sighed in impatience as Kretia placed a hand on Seffron's cheek and began whispering to the man with a playful look on her face. If anyone was going to supplant Cerdan, it certainly wouldn't be either of these disgustingly bedazzled buffoons.

Sitting down in the chair, Tomar began ruffling through Cerdan's papers again. "We have a new problem. Cerdan may be betraying us to the bucketheads of Tyr. Apparently he's met with some ranking official, an elf woman, at least twice today, and I'm convinced that he is acting in concert for today's attacks on the guild as well."

"Pshaw, that doesn't sound like him at all," said Seffron, making a backhanded wave at the man. "More likely he's just sweet on some pretty thing from the temple. Not everyone can be as dour and repulsive as you, y'know?"

Tomar noticed a knit brow appear on Kretia's face. Before Seffron could go on, she interrupted. "Seff, the guildmaster was the only other person who knew that we'd be at the tavern this morning. We never told anyone else, not even Tomar here." She started wringing her hands. "And the assassins that shot you were waiting for us…"

The smile evaporated from Seffron's face. "No, sorry, I don't buy that. Besides, he's not here right now, yeah? If he were behind some grandiose plot to take us down, wouldn't he set things up to hurt the guild the moment he was gone?"

At that moment, a young sandy-haired boy with a fuzzy gray cat tucked under his arm burst into the room. "Guildmaster! There's a huge problem coming this – oh, hello Mister Seffron! Glad to see you up!"

Tomar narrowed his eyes at the boy; it was the same kid who was running errands for Cerdan that morning… Bryn, or something. "What is the meaning of this?"

Bryn looked at each of the lieutenants in turn, then launched into a rapid explanation. "Cerdan told me to stay out of the guildhouse for the rest of the day and find a safehouse after I stopped by his house to get his cat – say hello, Jinx; I think the cat likes me – and then I was going to –"

"Shut up or get to the spiking point, will you?" Tomar growled. Gods, he hated children. "What's the 'huge problem' you mentioned?"

"On my way I noticed a huge party of knights and guards doing a sweep of all the buildings in the district. Not just that, they're arresting anyone, and I mean _anyone_, who looks suspicious too! I managed to slip by through the alley shortcuts, but I figured I should come back here and tell Cerdan before the sweep arrives here. Where is Cerdan, anyway?"

Kretia frowned. "You say Cerdan ordered you to leave the guildhouse earlier today? And then he disappears shortly after, without reason…"

Tomar rapped his knuckles on the desk and was on his feet. "Enough talk. I am hereby taking control of guild operations. Kretia, order a few of your assassins to assume stealthy positions on the rooftops of the buildings surrounding the guildhall. Make sure they have a clear view of the street. Seffron, I want constant reports on the movement of the paladin sweep and their proximity to our base. And you!" He glowered at the boy. "Get that cat out of here!" Jinx mewled at him with displeasure.

The three exchanged nervous glances and then began to shuffle out of the office to carry on with their duties. After they were gone, Tomar looked down at the desk and pushed the papers aside. The matter with Cerdan would have to wait for now. If the knights discovered the guildhouse before the proper arrangements and defenses were set, it was all over.

"Damn you elf. You'd best be enjoying the time you have right now. Because when I find you…" Tomar let his words hang in the air as he turned and stared at the Tower of Tyr in the distance once more.

(3:09)

"I'm not enjoying this at all!" Cerdan sighed. He kept pushing, trying to wedge a metal spike into the thin, barely visible crack that separated the handle and the door.

"Good. Neither am I," muttered Norris, "Could you possibly work any slower?"

The elf snorted silently, but didn't let the comment distract him. Humans. So impatient, so sloppy. "You know, I have a friend who's a lot like you. Cranky, grouchy, maybe a bit of crotchety thrown in as well. He goes by 'Derrick'." Cerdan smiled to himself as the spike finally slid into the space. "Of course, I _know _what his problem is; he's just mad that his son went and joined my guild. You, on the other hand, just strike me as an utter ass. Why is that, good ranger?" Cerdan looked over his shoulder and smiled pleasantly.

Norris grimaced, but answered with a steady tone. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh? Well, if you're not keen on sharing one of your tales, I'll have to regale you with one of mine! Let me tell you about this one time that I was beaten up by a dozen skeletons, now _that's_ a story. It all started with an angry gibberling…"

"Shut up," the ranger groaned. The elf went quiet, but he continued to stare at the man expectantly. After a few moments of silence, Norris finally caved in slightly. He turned his head away and murmured, "You keep calling me a ranger. But I lost my honour as a servant of the forest several years ago, among other things."

"Other things? Like what, a stellar personality?"

"Cordas took my unicorn pendant… my holy symbol of Mielikki, the patron of rangers. When I started working for him, he wanted some collateral to make sure I didn't just take the money and skip town without doing the work for him."

"Oh, I get it. You're blaming him for _your_ mistakes. Typical human behaviour," said the elf, shaking his head as he turned back to the door.

"It wasn't like that at all! I lost my honour by carrying out Cordas' dirty work! In the end, he wouldn't give me back the pendant, even after my friends died. So I had to try and take it back by force... for all the good _that_ did me." Norris absently touched his leg.

_Bah_, Cerdan thought, glancing at the ranger, _more human tendencies... if it doesn't work, hit it! If you meet an obstacle, break it down! No style or subtlety. Barbaric._

"When I tried to grab my pendant back, it burned my hand. That's when I realized the truth; I had become a fallen one." Sighing aloud, Norris met Cerdan's gaze. "Some of Cordas' men caught me from behind while I was distracted, so one of them took a hammer to my leg, crippling me. Then they tossed me out with a few choice curses."

The ranger's hand reached for his neck, seemingly seeking out the pendant that was long gone. "And that's it. I settled in a remote shack just outside the city and decided to stay there after my leg healed on its own. Certainly wasn't going to let the blasted faithmongers have their way with it."

"Ooh. Melodrama," Cerdan said in a flat tone, "and here I am without a kerchief."

"Shut up, elf. You don't get it, do you? As a fallen, I can never return to my hometown in the wilderness. As an outsider, I can never settle in the 'civilized' culture that I've grown to hate." Norris waved a backhand in the elf's direction. "You've never made so fatal an error to earn the ire of so many. You're just a common thief!"

"You'd be surprised," Cerdan murmured, "Maybe I haven't lived your life, but I've seen enough tragedy to know that your lamenting won't help you." The elf shifted the metal spike around, checking the feel on the lock's internal mechanism. He went on, "You carried out a terrible crime, and yes, you suffered as a result. But so what? Do you think that suffering makes you special? You're not the first person in the Realms to fall from grace, so stop trying to gain our pity.

"That mercenary is right; you've been spending all your time wailing about your problems. Bah, _anyone_ can do that. You want to show that you're different? _Do_ something about it. And not just blind revenge, either." Cerdan returned the ranger's glare with a blank stare. "Maybe Cordas does deserve to die. Hells, it would certainly make _my_ job easier. But that's not the way to recover. You need to let go of the past, ranger. Get over yourself."

"Let go of the past... people keep telling me that," muttered Norris. "Maybe there is something to that, after – wait, did you hear that?"

Cerdan stopped working on the lock for a moment and listened. A series of dull crashing noises echoed through the wooden ceiling overhead. "What the filch is happening up there?"

(3:14)

Dace reached back, grabbed the wooden chair by the head, and swung it around in an arc as he drew the Kara-Turian through the doorway. The mercenary didn't have to look around to know that this was the same room where he tortured Tavros. With his other hand, Dace waved his dagger defensively, keeping the blade pointed up to protect his central area.

The foreigner angled his weapon and roughly pressed forth, easily batting the chair aside and knocking it away into the wall. The Kara-Turian's strikes were all aimed at the torso with trained precision; he did not intend to merely disable or disarm his opponent, it was defend or die.

The mercenary bent his head forward and down, and took another large stride backward. Dace felt his heel knock against the hard surface of the overturned table, and he immediately pitched himself backward, letting himself fall. He twitched his arms slightly to make it look as if he was surprised as he fell to the other side of the table, and the mercenary landed hard on his back. His dagger skittered across the floor and fell out of reach.

Closing in immediately, the easterner planted a foot atop the table's edge and pointed his katana blade at the prone mercenary's face. A line of syllables rolled off the foreigner's lips, and Dace guessed he was demanding surrender.

Staring up at the easterner, he nodded and raised his hands above his head. "I yield."

Then, in a blast of movement, Dace grabbed the tip of the blade with his right hand and yanked it toward him, angling the weapon so it just missed his head. At the same time, Dace reached back with his other hand and grabbed the mace that the elven cleric had earlier left on the floor of the room.

Reversing the weapon in his grip, Dace launched himself into an upright sitting position and rammed the mace forward into the warrior's knee with all his strength. The easterner released an angered cry as he collapsed forward and hit the ground, dropping his katana to clutch his crushed kneecap in his hands.

Tossing Selena's mace aside, Dace quickly took the foreigner's katana in his left hand and pressed the weapon against the underside of the warrior's chin. The mercenary glanced at the long, bloody gashes on his right hand and, ignoring the pain, made a fist to slow the blood loss for now.

"You are far too skilled in combat to risk leaving alive."

The warrior glowered at the mercenary, and Dace prepared to drive the blade into the man's throat.

"Hold it there!" Norris shouted as he rushed into the room. "What is going on in– Shen?"

Dace never took his eyes off the warrior. "This man attacked me. You know who he is?"

"He's just like me, blackheart, so hold back that weapon. Cordas is blackmailing him into servitude in exchange for his life."

"Indeed." Dace didn't move. "He is still a threat."

"No more a danger than _you_, I'll wager."

Dace gave an indignant snort and took a step back. "So be it. If you will not see his death, you will see him bound. There is some rope lying nearby, enough to tie his wrists and ankles." He raised the katana and eyed the workmanship of the steel blade. "I will consider how we can use this situation to our best advantage once you leave us."

"No. That winged man is right; you're a complete blackheart. I'm staying here to keep watch on you."

"And I am staying here to watch the foreigner. Even as a pessimist you are far too trusting, particularly for a warrior as skilled as this one." With a swift kick, Dace knocked Shen on the forehead, putting the easterner out cold. "Perhaps I am of blackest hearts; that is what makes me a survivor." He cocked his head toward Shen. "Now hurry and bind him. It is only a matter of time before he awakes."

(3:20)

"Hmm. Not too complicated underneath…" Cerdan mumbled to himself as he shifted the metal spike, probing the small gap he'd forced between the safe's handle and door. Picking locks was about more than randomly poking at the mechanism inside. Probing only revealed the general form of the security device; it was up to the thief's own experience and skill to defeat the lock.

It felt as though the door was held by a heavy internal latch, one that probably would be moved by a switch or lever hidden somewhere in the building. Cerdan pushed the spike further into the space, trying to hook the tool under the latch.

To a thief, it didn't matter if you used controlled or extreme amounts of force. The key factor was using that leverage in the right spot. Even through the slim crack, he found he could shift the latch upward partway if the spike was pressed in at the correct angle.

The elf held the spike in place and gave the handle a sharp turn. This time, the handle turned all the way, and a rough yank made the iron door come ajar amidst a metallic 'crunching' noise. Cerdan drew the door open slightly and saw that part of the exposed latch was now cracked and bent at a jutting angle, which would make it difficult to close the door completely.

Peeking inside, Cerdan's eyes were first drawn to a sparkling, blue crystal sphere at the very back of the vault. Various alchemical paraphernalia lay on the tables surrounding the centerpiece, making it clear that the vault was currently being used as a mage's lab.

Before he could even set foot inside, the blue crystal suddenly flared with a bright light and the elf felt an odd bite of chill in the air. More telling was the slight crackling sound that the sphere began to make. A voice in the back of Cerdan's mind shouted a single, clear word: _Trap!_

The thief instinctively tried to slam the metal door shut, but the bent latch caught against the doorframe, preventing him from sealing it completely and leaving the door ajar by a few centimetres. The elf flipped around, pressed his back flat against the outside of the door and braced his feet on the ground, straining to force the door shut.

A sudden, slamming force struck from behind, blasting the door open and knocking the elf forward off his feet. He fell hard on his front side a few feet away from the vault door, and the thin, rough carpet did little to soften the landing. He lay there for a few moments, clutching his nose as the crackling noise died down behind him. Gingerly checking his face to make sure he wasn't bleeding again, the elf then slowly rolled onto his back.

The elf looked down the hall at the vault and saw that the far end of the corridor was now completely covered in what appeared to be a thick layer of blue, sparkling ice. By the looks of it, the heavy metal door managed to deflect the angle of the magical blast, which explained why only a portion of the corridor was struck by the freezing energy. Unfortunately, the odd angle of the deflected blast created a concave wall of ice further down the hall, completely blocking the path to the stairs. Groaning slightly, Cerdan realized that he was now trapped in the dead end basement corridor.

The elf rose to his feet and stepped closer to the vault. There was too much thick ice covering the floor and the inside of the door for him to open or close it any time soon, but it was wide enough for him to step into the room. He poked his head inside the vault and waited a few moments. The elf breath dissipated into the cold air, and he presumed that the ice trap wouldn't immediately go off again.

If he didn't know any better, Cerdan would think that he was standing in the middle of a northern ice cave.

Almost every surface of the alchemical lab was now encased in the blue ice, rendering most of the objects within practically useless to the thief. The blast had apparently doused most of the torches outside in the hallway, so the only source of light was the crystal sphere itself, casting the room in a dim, blue glow.

Two things remained conspicuously untouched by the ice; one was the crystal sphere itself, still sparkling innocently atop its pedestal in the middle of the vault. The other was a pile of black, hoodless cloaks sitting on a table near the door.

Stepping sideways to keep the crystal sphere in view, Cerdan slowly touched one of the cloaks with his hand. The fabric felt a little cool, but it was certainly warmer than one would expect, given the temperature of the room. They were probably warded to provide Cordas' men with protection against the ice magic.

Feeling a shiver, the elf lifted one of the cloaks and draped it atop his shoulders, over his own traveling cloak. As he pulled it snugly over his shoulders, he found that the chill was dulled and felt much more bearable. His exposed head was still a bit cold, however.

Pausing a moment, the elf reached into his tunic pocket and removed his magical tracking crystal. The glowing yellow lights within the half-orb were still largely clumped together at a point far to the northwest of here, most likely the temple of Tyr. However, Cerdan now noticed that a significant number of the lights had migrated to the eastern parts of the city, in the direction of the merchant district where his guildhouse was located.

"Something's going on back at the base," he mused aloud, putting the artifact away. "Well, it's probably nothing they can't handle." At least the knights aren't on their way _here_. Still, Cerdan knew he had to find a way to escape as quickly as possible; Selena would be returning with a contingent of armed guards at any moment.

Cerdan glanced at the blue sphere and wondered what he could do to get past the ice wall outside. Time to get creative.

(3:33)

"Hurry up, you urchins. Move it!" Tomar bellowed at the crowd of junior members who were rushing around the guild's entry hall below. "If things aren't it place when the faithscreamers show up, we're all spiked for sure!"

The new guild leader felt a tap on his shoulder.

"This isn't going to work, you know." Kretia folded her arms and tapped her foot. "Don't the paladins have spells? Can't they sense evil?"

"Not all our guild members can be lumped under 'evil', and a paladin cannot arrest a person based on aura alone. We do not live under a tyranny; the only reason they have to arrest people, even in a sweep like this one, is if they are under suspicion of committing crime." Tomar began walking back toward Cerdan's office. "Besides, we all know that magical scrying can be fooled."

Kretia shook her head. "By all accounts, we already lost a good number of our agents to the sweep in the western districts."

"I don't care about them, our base is the main concern." He opened the door and stepped through, leading Kretia to the desk. "Are your agents in position atop the roofs?"

"Well, they are, but I think they're took visible in the places you wanted them. Anyone walking along the streets will spot them."

"That won't be a problem. I'm more concerned with what Cerdan may have told the knights beforehand."

"If he did tell them anything, he couldn't have been very specific. They're doing a step-by-step check of every building in the local districts, so they don't actually know where we are."

Tomar's eyes fell to the latched drawers in Cerdan's wooden desk. "Are you skilled enough to pick these locks?" The elf might have left behind some evidence, or proof of his affairs."

"Oh, there's nothing of note in here," Kretia replied, rapping her knuckles on the front of the desk. "He keeps the important materials in his safe."

Tomar glanced around, but saw no visible sign of such a thing on the bare walls of the office. In response to his puzzlement, the blonde lieutenant stepped around the desk and gestured for Tomar to vacate the chair. She then moved the chair aside and kneeled on the ground to pry up the floorboard beneath.

"Tricky blighter, isn't he?" Tomar mumbled as Kretia revealed the hidden compartment below. "How did you know it was here?"

"Hold, look at this!" Kretia removed a fresh parchment from the floor safe and silently looked over the words written upon it. "A correspondence of some sort..."

The new guild leader took the sheet from the woman and read it himself: '_We agree to your terms. You will be spared and left unharmed by my associates if you internally cripple your guild's operations on the agreed date. Remember that we require our target alive, and without suspicion. I will contact you on the date of execution, once this has been accomplished. – Lenthyrr'_

"Finally, some hard material against the elf," Tomar said, a grin creeping onto his face. "This 'Lenthyrr' must be the elf woman he ran off with. Sounds like an elvish name, at least."

He snapped his fingers in Kretia's direction. "Whatever you do, _don't_ tell Seffron about this. Of the three of us, he's the most loyal to the elf."

"But I–"

"I don't care how trustworthy you think he is, he's liable to tip Cerdan off if the elf ever shows his face again. Understand? This is a strict order!"

She frowned, but slowly nodded in assent. "But what are you planning?"

"Not now," he said, folding the parchment and putting it away in his vest. "First we need to finish pulling the blinders over the faithmongers' eyes."

The door behind them creaked open, and Bryn stuck his head into the office. "Hey, mister Tomar! The paladins just showed up, and they want to speak to the person in charge of this place."

"Earlier than I expected. Have them wait in the training room and tell Seffron to stall them until I arrive." Choosing not to bother scolding the boy for his audacity, Tomar tugged on the edge of his tunic and brushed away a spot of dirt. "Show time."

(3:38)

_The way a person lives defines how they act in a given situation,_ Cerdan thought as he laid a hand upon the concave ice wall blocking his way out. A warrior would take the direct solution and try to break though this barrier with their strength. A wizard would take the indirect choice and use their magic to melt or remove the ice completely. _But a thief finds a way to evade the problem entirely through cunning._

He removed his palm from the ice and felt the moisture that remained on his hand. _So it _is _real ice_. _The sphere's blast creates a concussive force, but also freezes the water in the air_, he thought, glancing back at the vault door. _Water expands when it freezes, doesn't it?_

The elf looked around at the wooden walls and ceiling. It was difficult to see through the ice, but Cerdan could make out one of the vertical support beams on the side of the corridor. Sure enough, the wooden support had been cracked and bent slightly under the combined force from the initial blast and pressure from the ice.

Hurrying back to the vault, Cerdan returned to the enchanted sphere and the center of the room and crouched before the pedestal. Behind it was a box of cheap medallions, apparently designed to resemble the insignia for officials of the city Dukes. Unfortunately, the box was frozen over, making it impossible to retrieve them.

The elf turned his attention back to the sphere and leaned forward, keeping the artifact at eye level. Perhaps the sphere was a magical source for placing enchantments upon the medallions. Even at arm's length, he could feel the frigid aura on his face.

Evidently, Cordas knew someone might find this wizard's lab and set the orb to activate when the door opened. But perhaps the sphere was something more important than a simple trap; maybe it was used as an arcane source for copying enchantments on other artifacts. If Cordas had a skilled wizard, he could have the magic of the ice sphere transferred to smaller objects like the medallions in the box.

Unwilling to risk touching the orb, he retrieved another protective cloak from the table by the vault door and tossed the garment over the sphere like a blanket. Handling it carefully through the fabric, Cerdan lifted the artifact from its pedestal and slowly upended the cloak so he could hold it by the corners, carrying it like a sack. On his way out the door, Cerdan picked up a few more of the protective cloaks and tossed them over a shoulder.

As he stepped back outside, he wondered why Norris and the others hadn't come downstairs to check on his progress. Humans. Probably arguing about some inconsequential matter again. Sighing aloud, the elf carefully set the orb on the ground for now and began to make the preparations for his escape.

(3:42)

"It's a complicated matter, Shen, but we're in the same situation," Norris said, sitting in a chair opposite the easterner. Shen was tied up in a seat by the wall, but remained silent even though they left him ungagged. The harsh glare in the man's eyes spoke volumes enough.

"Why are you talking at him when he cannot understand you?"

Norris snapped his gaze toward Dace. "It'll make _me_ feel better, blackheart. If you're so disgusted, go bother the elf instead."

"No. The foreigner is a more immediate threat." Saying nothing else, Dace remained standing in the doorway and began to wrap a piece of cloth around the gash on his right hand, all the while watching Shen like a snake.

Turning back to the silent warrior, Norris pointed at the crusty green tinged gash exposed through the tear on the shoulder of Shen's tan-coloured clothing. "Ironic, isn't it? Back in the alley with the sergeant, I would have killed you outright if I didn't see that wound." The ranger shook his head, "The wound that threatens to kill you ended up saving your life… for a while, at least."

He glanced down and noticed a makeshift bandage over the easterner's foot, where Norris previously stabbed him with an arrow. Of course, now the easterner was probably too distracted by the pain from his bashed knee.

Pain. Norris was aware of the numbness running from his upper neck down to his mid-torso, a result of the pain-numbing enchantment placed upon him by Cyrael. Speaking of which, where _was_ Cyrael? Downstairs with that elven thief, most likely.

Norris shook the thought from his mind and chose to focus on the present situation, for once. He reached up and began to remove the bandage from around his neck. "I wonder how you've managed to endure today's events with the constant pain from Cordas' poison." Norris shook his head again, "I guess that's not important. All that matters is which one of us will claim the cure from Cordas."

"If only one of you can receive this cure," said Dace, "Then you are a fool to let him live."

"You don't get it, do you? We're the same, he and I. Two men forced down the path of murderous deeds in exchange for our own lives. In a way, killing him would be like killing myself. Maybe the elf was right. I need to change…"

He turned back to Shen and turned his head slightly, pointing at the poisoned wound on his neck. The Kara-Tur warrior noticed the greenish gash and furrowed his brow, as if weighing this new information about Norris' relationship with Cordas. Norris nodded, "You understand now, don't you? We've been forced into the same position, easterner."

Even if they didn't speak the same language, Norris wondered if the warrior could be convinced to join him in the quest against the crimelord. The only problem, of course, was the matter of the cure. Dace was right about one thing; the ranger was painfully aware that one of them would not go on to see tomorrow. On the other hand, it was unlikely that Cordas would have revealed the antidote scarcity to Shen. Perhaps they would deal with that obstacle when they reached it.

"Hold." Dace suddenly raised a warning hand, leaning back and glancing down the hallway. "I heard a noise just now, from somewhere within the building."

(3:47)

"Are you the proprietor of this establishment?" demanded the armoured paladin. He carried his helmet under one arm, allowing him to direct his full, unobstructed gaze at Tomar. Two additional guards from the city barracks flanked the knight, adding to the sense of authority about the paladin.

Tomar put on his best fake smile as he bowed before the trio standing in front of the mantelpiece. "I am the operator, yes, mister…?"

"_Sir_ Rennemar, foremost royal horseman of Tyr. Some of the locals around this region tell me this building is usually off limits to the public; I understand many shady-looking people tend to come and go."

"Ah, a common misconception." He waved a hand at the many occupants of the room. "This, good sirs, is an adventurers' club."

They were actually standing in the guild's training room for the burglary test, hastily refurnished in the past hour to resemble a casual lounge. Tomar had picked this room in particular to pull the con on the knights since it was already decorated to resemble a noble's home. He just hoped the faithmongers didn't look up and notice the tar nozzle traps hidden in the ceiling.

The guildmaster kept his smile frozen on his face, trying to keep his lips from twitching into a grimace. "As you can see, we are a _very_ exclusive club, which is why the local ruffians and vagabonds may try to spread negative rumours about us," continued Tomar, pointing to the dozen or so thieves relaxing in padded chairs and milling about nearby.

The thieves were all in costume, dressed as mages and bards, having almost completely exhausted the guild's supply of disguises. The rest of the guild members were hiding down in the lower vaults of the building, where the paladins were less likely to check so long as they remained unsuspecting.

"Hmm. What about the armed men I observed on the rooftops outside? Rather peculiar arrangement."

"Ah, that is because we operate in the city's merchant district, not one of the wealthier regions of town. You of all people should know just how rough such areas could become. Protective measures are a necessity for the well-being of our clientele."

In truth, the merchant sector was becoming one of the _safest_ areas in town, largely due to that gutless elf's attempts to turn the guild into a non-violent organization. Tomar gambled that the knight wouldn't be aware of that fact, however. Sir Rennemar's armour bore a crest that identified him as a knight of Athkatla's Order of Tyr. Probably on a short visit to Baldur's Gate for whatever reason.

Tomar noticed that the paladin was beginning to eye the other occupants with suspicion. Thinking quickly, the guildmaster spoke, "You are free to question our patrons, of course, but it may take a while to get any coherent answers out of them. They're well into their cups already, and some are more likely to launch into dirty limericks or off-colour anecdotes in their current state."

At that point, Seffron meandered by, giggling incoherently and cradling a bottle in his hands. He pretended to stumble, and crashed directly into the knight. It wasn't enough to even budge the heavily armoured paladin, however.

"Ugh," muttered Rennemar as he watched the guard shove the man away. "This is a waste of our time. Officers, move on to the next building. I'll meet you back at the Tower of Tyr later." As his men filed out, the paladin turned to Tomar and prodded the man in the chest. "I don't know what sort of hedonistic traditions pass as 'culture' in this city, but I can say that I despise such businesses that turn men into drunken louts."

The knight turned and hoisted Seffron up off the ground, and gave him a rough shake. "Look, this man is clearly inebriated, and it is not even sunset!"

As he shook the guild lieutenant, a small coinpurse slipped from the thief's hand and landed on the ground at the paladin's feet.

The knight stared down at the pouch. "Wait… that's mine!"

Seffron's drunken grin suddenly disappeared, and he looked toward Tomar. "Sorry, boss. Couldn't help myself."

Furrowing his brow, a look of anger flashed across Sir Rennemar's face and he shoved Seffron away. "What in blazes is this! What are you–"

"Blast it! _Tar _him, now!" Tomar suddenly shouted.

"What?" The paladin stood dumbfounded for a moment and let his hand fall toward his sword.

Then a wet noise sounded from above, prompting both Seffron and Tomar to take a few steps back. The guildmaster watched as the trap nozzles in the ceiling sprayed several thick streams of sticky, black tar down over the knight. Sir Rennemar swore and dropped his helmet in surprise as the tar coated him. He raised his arms and tried to move away, but some of the gooey black substance had already seeped into the joints of his armour, making it difficult for him to move fluidly.

Immediately, the other thieves in the room rushed to their leader's aid, pouncing on the knight and exploiting his momentary lack of coordination.

"You fiends! I swear that you'll all pay for this!"

Tomar stepped forward as the knight was wrestled to the ground under the collective weight of several guild members. The guildmaster crouched down and smeared some of the tar down over the knight's eyes. "Take him down to the lower dungeon for now. We'll have to decide on how to deal with him soon."

As Sir Rennemar was dragged off, kicking and screaming, by the squadron of thieves, Seffron stepped away from the group and faced Tomar. "Er, sorry about that. Old habits, y'know? Didn't mean to cause a new problem. In a few hours, the temple higher-ups are going to realize he's gone missing…"

"That won't be a problem; we can probably set it up to look like one of the Southside Row gangs are responsible." Tomar wiped some of the tar from his fingers. "When the remaining paladins have finished sweeping through the rest of the region, have a few of your scouts start patrolling the south and western district gates. Order them to stay alert for Cerdan.

"When he learns that his plot against us failed, he'll come investigating himself. The fool just loves to personally stick his nose into other people's business." The guildmaster aimed his full gaze at Seffron. "Tell your agents that he is to be brought in alive, but they are authorized to use whatever force is needed, should he refuse to comply. It's past time for the elf to face the consequences of his betrayal…"

(3:52)

Cerdan wrapped the extra cloak around his head and tugged at the front, creating a small gap so he could see. Taking a deep breath, he crouched in the corner of the hallway and raised the crystal sphere to eye level at arm's length. Focusing his aim at one of the support beams, the elf glanced up at the ceiling and locked his eyes on his intended target.

Bracing himself, the elf lowered his arms for a moment, then pitched the crystal sphere toward the top of one of the wooden support beams that had been untouched by the first ice wave. When the artifact left his hands, the elf immediately turned around to face the wall and lowered his head. Pulling the protective cloak tight around his body, the elf held his breath as he felt a slight chill and a wave of force hit him from behind.

This time, however, the cold pressure was absorbed by the enchantment and he felt otherwise unharmed. As the blast subsided, Cerdan stood up and looked back at the support. The second blast had created a similar layer of ice, and now _all_ the walls of the corridor were encased, save for a small Cerdan-shaped patch where the elf was crouched.

A slight 'cracking' noise drew his attention back to the support beam. As planned, a series of large cracks had formed in the wooden support, wide enough that they were visible even through the ice. The adjacent beams were also damaged, but the targeted support had taken the brunt of the concussive force. Interestingly enough, the enchanted sphere had apparently frozen itself in place on the ceiling, embedded in a particularly thick part of the blue ice wall, near the support.

With one of the extra cloaks open in his hands, Cerdan fished out his sword and carefully aimed it at a section of the ice on the ceiling. Keeping the cloak held wide like a blanket, the elf jabbed the sword into the ice, making sure he did not accidentally hit the magical sphere.

The force wasn't enough to break the ice, unfortunately. Instead, the cracking sounds from the support rapidly became louder, and the wooden beam suddenly collapsed with a loud 'snap' beneath the additional weight of the ice on the ceiling.

Cerdan's arms went out as the ice broke, and he deftly managed to catch the sphere as it fell from the ceiling. With the support gone, a section of the ceiling caved in, forcing the elf to fall away on his back amidst a spray of splintered wood and ice. A section of the floor from the level above crashed down into the corridor, just missing the thief and creating a large wooden incline leading into a room above.

The elf lay there for a few moments, coughing through the cloth that was wrapped around his face. "Ugh. Well, so much for cunning."

He heard a series of confused exclamations coming from the room overhead, no doubt from his comrades above. The elf glanced down and saw that the ice orb was still safely clutched in his arms. Wrapping it up in the protective garment, Cerdan took a moment to remove the other cloak he was wearing over his head.

"Well, fellows," he shouted up through the hole in the ceiling, "I managed to get into the vault down here."

Keeping his eyes on the collapsed flooring and the wrapped artifact in his hands, he carefully climbed the collapsed wooden floor, pulling himself up the incline and out of the basement. "And I seem to have found something that could be of use to us."

A series of loud clacking noises sounded from around the room, and Cerdan looked up as half a dozen armed men stepped into view, each pointing a heavy crossbow squarely in the elf's direction.

"Uh, hello…" the elf began, darting his eyes about the room. These men did not bear the armour of paladins. Their unkempt clothing actually looked more like ruffians from a local gang. Perhaps the thief and his comrades had lingered too long in Cordas' hideout…

"Hold your aim, men." A person wearing silk attire and a torn nobleman's sash stepped out from behind the ruffians, and pointed at the elf. "Keep your hands visible and slowly place that artifact on the ground, elf. That is the property of my lord, Cordas. You do not want to force us to harm your allies." He cocked his head to the left, and Cerdan glanced to the side into the next room.

Norris and Dace stood within sight, surrounded by a few other armed gang members. They both had their hands tied, and several daggers were pointed at their throats. Each hostage wore a disdainful expression on his face, and they were both glowering silently at the well-dressed leader of these ruffians.

Cerdan stood his ground and held the wrapped sphere high. "Those two? They're prepared to die, and I can't say I particularly like either of them, anyway. You don't want to try me. If I drop this, we all get to die together."

"Oh? And how do you feel about _this_ one that we found outside on our way here?" The finely dressed 'nobleman' snapped his fingers, and another of his henchmen entered, shoving a struggling yellow-robed figure into the middle of the room.

Selena stumbled slightly, but managed to keep from falling over. Like the others, the red-haired woman had her hands bound behind her back. A white cloth was tied around her mouth, probably to keep her from shouting any spells. The priestess simply glared at Cerdan and made a few muffled words through the gag. Whatever she was saying, he doubted it was very flattering. The rogue clenched his jaw, and said nothing.

The 'nobleman' tugged a long-brimmed hat over his head, then gestured to his henchmen. "Take the artifact the elf is holding, and be careful with it. Tie his hands and round up all these intruders in the wagon out front. Cordas only wanted the easterner brought back, but we'll have to get his word on what to do with these others."

Cerdan was roughly grabbed by a few of the henchmen, and he looked toward Selena, Norris and Dace as they were shoved past him toward the exit.

(3:59)

The ranger looked back over his shoulder at someone trailing behind. "Damn you, Shen! You knew these men were coming, didn't you?" The Kara-Tur warrior gave no reply, and simply followed the group in a steady march, stoically staring ahead.

"Blast," Norris muttered under his breath. How could that foreigner appear so serene when working for the vile crimelord who poisoned them?

What could possibly be going through that man's head right now?

**(4:00 PM)**

**Note:** All author's notes will be posted in my forum from now on.


	12. Lone Voice

**Lone Voice**

**(4:00 PM)**

Shen shielded his eyes as he slowly stepped outside into the glaring sunlight. Averting his gaze from the sun looming above in the distance, the warrior found himself staring down at the katana on his belt. It was said that a samurai's soul, his very essence of honour, was embodied through his chosen weapon. While he had wielded the blade for years with the utmost respect for its power, he felt… hollow here on this day.

In a single afternoon, his katana had fallen into the hands of an honourless foe not once, but twice. Such failures spoke ill of his worthiness to carry it.

He watched as Cordas' men dragged the criminals to the wagon. If they were back in Kara-Tur, Shen would have ordered that they be released and each given a weapon in turn, that they would be granted the dignity to die standing in single combat.

_But no_, he thought, _this culture has not yet reached that level of civility. For now, I must endure their uncouth customs if I am to succeed in my greater mission._

Shen watched as the last prisoner was forced into the covered wagon. It was the male elf that had the look of a deceiver; he was well dressed and proudly groomed, yet he moved and behaved with the countenance of a commoner. Like a person who smiles to cover up his true nature.

Of course, the same could be said of Cordas' follower, the one in the brimmed hat and silk fineries. That finely garbed man was currently calling out to Shen, waving the warrior over to the side of the wagon. As Shen moved closer, the man pointed to the opening at the rear of the cart, motioning for the Kara-Turian to get inside.

Shen peeked inside and hesitated for a moment, feeling the glares of the four prisoners within. Silk-man gave the warrior a shove on the back and babbled a few words in his incomprehensible language. Shen glared back at the man, but acceded. Straining against the stiffness in his knee, the samurai slowly climbed into the wagon, keeping a hand on his katana hilt at all times. After the warrior passed through the opening, Silk-man tugged on a curtain attached to the roof, shrouding the wagon interior from sight.

(4:07)

As the wagon began to move, the samurai took a seat near the exit of the cart, beside the red-haired female elf. Of the four criminals, she had the least dangerous appearance, and he was confident that he could handle her if she attempted to harm him.

The woman said something to him, her words almost completely muffled through the gag, but Shen could do nothing but shake his head at her. The yellow robes she wore marked her as a spellcaster of some kind, and Shen wasn't foolish enough to remove the gag, even if he could somehow understand her. She was surely a heretic of some sort.

He recognized her from earlier in the day, back when Archer and the rest of Cordas' men went with her inside the heretics' tower in the northern section of the city. While it was puzzling that such a vile group of cultists would be permitted to operate so plainly in the city, Shen decided to pay it no mind. Just another example of the lax attitudes in the western realms, to let such religious cults exist.

Red-hair turned to the other elf, Deceiver, and started to mumble more angry words. Deceiver, in turn, shrugged his shoulders and gave some kind of glib reply out of the corner of his mouth. This apparently was enough to cause Red-hair to raise her voice to a shout.

Whatever they were saying, it was quickly turning into a heated argument, and in a few minutes the two elves were yapping back and forth, straining Shen's patience. The Kara-Turian felt no love for the slack, common tongue used in these western realms. It was completely lacking in tonal precision and refinement, like the braying of mules.

"Be silent!" Shen ordered, drawing his katana partway to make his message clear. Although they couldn't understand his words, the warrior took some comfort in the fact that certain gestures and body language were universal.

The samurai looked over at the older prisoner, the one dressed in black. Although he and Shen had shared only a brief melee, he'd shown himself to be completely without morals. Rather than stand and fight like a true warrior, he fled and resorted to trickery. Instead of yielding honestly, he lulled the Kara-Turian close for a shameful blow to the knee. Barbaric.

Fortunately, Silk-man and Cordas' followers were able to provide some healing to the wound. His knee would feel quite stiff for the next few days, but it was better than having a limp.

Shen frowned, pushing the thought from his mind. No, it was better to accept the shame of his defeat for now, and survive for a short while longer. After he finished this business with Cordas, he could carry on with his own quest. Only then, after he fulfilled his higher duty, would he decide on whether or not his life had fallen far enough into dishonour to warrant the final act…

(4:20)

Several minutes later, the wagon slowed to a stop and Shen could hear several voices conversing outside. He drew the curtain aside partway and looked out. They were back at Cordas' second base, a drab, grey building situated in the wealthier northern district of the city. More specifically, the wagon was stopped in the middle of the alleyway that ran _behind _the base. The Kara-Turian carefully stood and moved the curtain aside completely, preparing to carefully step down.

Someone suddenly tackled him from the behind, bowling the samurai forward and making him fall forward, slamming his knee directly against the hard earth. Screaming out of both pain and frustration, Shen twisted and instinctively drove his elbow back, striking his attacker in the head.

"Disease upon your hearth and household!" cursed the easterner. He struggled to roll over under the weight of his opponent.

Some shouting erupted from around them, and Shen looked up to see a band of Cordas' men, approaching from the front of the wagon with crossbows armed and ready. Silk-man barked something, and the attacker immediately let go of Shen and receded.

Gripping his knee, the samurai struggled as he climbed to his feet. He glowered at the man who tackled him, and was not surprised to see that it was Black-cloak who had the gall to ambush someone from behind.

Shouting more unintelligible words, Silk-man made a series of gestures at the prisoners, and the rest of Cordas' followers closed in on the criminals, herding them a short distance down the alley toward a door in the side of the grey stone building.

Black-cloak hissed something in Shen's face as he passed, obviously making some obscene threat. The warrior remained impassive as the criminals were led inside one by one; even if Shen's honour was tarnished by his past failures, the samurai knew that he was still of a greater circle than these barbarians.

"Shen."

The warrior looked up as Archer was pushed past. Making eye contact for only a moment, Archer tilted his head to the side, making obvious the green-tinged mark on the nape of his neck. As Archer was taken inside, Shen glanced down at the similar marking that was engraved on his own shoulder.

_That_ complicated things. Why would Cordas bestow the same mark of prestige upon the Archer, only to later tell the samurai to kill him? Or perhaps there was more to the green symbol than Shen was led to believe…

Silk-man struck the warrior on the arm and shouted a few words in Shen's face, shaking the man from his reverie. Although Shen still couldn't understand him, there was one word that came through clearly: "Cordas."

Giving a curt bow, Shen motioned for Silk-man to lead on.

(4:31)

As he passed through the bare stone hallways, Shen couldn't help but wonder at the difference between the interiors of this building and Cordas' main estate. Strange how the base in the southern district was so lavishly furnished even though it stood against the backdrop of what was surely one of the poorest regions of the city.

_This_ base, in contrast, was in the middle of an opulent neighbourhood, but had such sparse decoration that it would impress even the humblest of the Grey Owl monks back home. Cordas was surely a man of contradictions, which led Shen to wonder if the lord had some other twist in mind for the prisoners they'd brought in just now.

Silk-man showed the samurai up to Cordas' office, then half-heartedly waved his arm at the door, gibbered something under his breath, and started to walk away. Shen's eyes followed the man as he retreated from sight. While it was clear that Silk-man was one of the higher-ranking members of Cordas' court, he was completely absent in proper courtesy and respect. In the more civilized eastern realms, such lack of protocol to a superior was a punishable crime.

Something about the man rang false to Shen. In a way, he was like Deceiver, brazenly running amok in the guise of a station to which he was unworthy.

The warrior sniffed indignantly and reached for the door handle. He was above these underlings, and it served no end to dwell on them in his thoughts. Passing inside, Shen closed the door behind him and bowed low to Cordas. He waited patiently as the lord turned away from the window and addressed the warrior's presence.

"I am told that you failed to slay the archer, as I ordered," Cordas began, speaking in Shen's Kara-Turian dialect.

Shen lowered his head. "The shame weighs upon my soul, lord, and I accept responsibility for my failure."

"Disappointing," growled the lord, "First you fail to protect my wizard Horance, then you do not even _participate_ in the removal of the portal key from the heretics' tower…"

Shen recalled that he had been ordered to remain outside by the Sergeant, but he knew that making excuses was a poor man's way of evading responsibility and duty, so the Kara-Turian remained silent.

"… and now you cannot even fulfill a single, direct command to end the archer's life!" Cordas fingered the pale unicorn pendant around his neck. "He is an honourless dog, Shen. How much disgrace are you willing to endure on this matter?"

"I have tarnished my name, lord, but it is better that I endure such dishonour for now, than to sit and do nothing while my sister is still missing."

Cordas frowned. "Yes, of course, your sister. As I made abundantly clear, I will help you find her only after you have paid proper fealty to me through service."

"I have not forgotten, and I thank you for your hospitality." Shen met Cordas' eyes. "But there is one thing I do not understand, lord." He raised his arm and pointed to the green symbol etched into his shoulder. "The mark that you bestowed upon me…"

"The binding mark will be removed and healed after we are concluded." The lord reached into a pocket and held up a vial of fluid. "You are a stranger to these lands, so you do not understand its importance. In this part of the world, it's an honour to receive such a prestigious blessing. Only the strongest and noblest of warriors may achieve and endure that enchanted brand. It signifies your purity and nobility of spirit."

Shen did not bring up the fact that it also created a painful burning on his skin. Doing so might count as an insult to the lord, or a sign of unworthiness. Were it not for the medicinal salve the warrior had brought from Kara-Tur, it might still hurt or even impede his bladework. At least now the pain was dulled, if only slightly.

He nodded along, gracious for Cordas' honesty. "Yes, but I noticed that Archer had the mark as well… on the back of his neck for some reason."

Cordas' eye twitched slightly. "He is a betrayer, and has since fallen from grace. He would murder you without a thought, without even issuing a proper challenge to battle."

_Yet he defended my life from a shameful death at the hands of Black-cloak_, Shen thought to himself, _and the mark on Archer's neck looked no older than my own…_

"I'm surprised they were able to recover the ice sphere. The trap that Horance left upon the orb was supposed to kill anyone who managed to open the vault door." The elderly man shrugged and turned back to the window, staring out at the white heretics' tower. "I may have further use of the artifact as a tool against Pryus. In any case, it served well in slaughtering the clerics and knights of Tyr."

Shen blinked and furrowed his brow. Knights of Tyr? While Shen did not bow to any of the Faerunian deities, he knew that 'paladins' were considered the hallmark of honourable warriors in the west… "I thought you said we were killing heretics."

For a long moment, Cordas did not reply. He slowly faced the warrior. "I… misspoke. We are, or course, doing naught but honourable deeds."

Cordas removed a device from his pocket and stared down at it for a moment. "It is time for me to leave. The Sigil must be recovered from the heretics' tower, and I plan to see this through personally. As for you," he said, putting the timepiece away, "There is one last duty that is required: You must execute all the prisoners that were recovered from my estate."

"Of course, lord." Shen bowed again. "But I will require additional weapons."

"Why? Use your katana!"

The samurai shook his head. "Not for me. For _them_. It is dishonourable to kill someone unarmed and outside of the battlefield or place of judgement, especially a woman." That wasn't completely true, but the warrior wanted to afford at least _some_ courtesy to Archer and the female elf. He didn't particularly care about Deceiver or Black-cloak.

Cordas walked up to Shen and leaned close, forcing the warrior to take a step back. "Don't you _dare_ put a weapon in their hands. I have enough things to worry about without you trying to arm my prisoners. If you do not follow my orders immediately, you'll never find your sister. I'm the only person for miles who can even speak your language. You don't want to become an outsider, alone and without hope."

Swallowing his pride, the warrior simply inclined his head. This wasn't right. Cordas was speaking in a far harsher tone than when they first met.

"The prisoners are currently in the eastern rooms, so go and finish your duty. When I return, there will be little time to waste, so be quick and thorough." With that, Cordas waved his hand, dismissing the Kara-Turian from his presence.

Giving a final bow, Shen exited the room and slowly made his way toward the prisoners' cells. Resting a hand upon the hilt of his katana, the warrior let out a breath and mentally readied himself for the task he was fated to perform.

(4:40)

As he paced through the corridor, Shen couldn't rid himself of the doubtful feeling that gnawed away at his soul. Back home in Kara-Tur, his master had issued a single, simple command to the young warrior: "Find your sister, no matter where the journey may take you."

That journey ended up taking him to the other side of the continent over a period of a whole year thus far. He might even have already her by now, had he not led his assigned interpreter to their death. How fortunate he was to have encountered Lord Cordas and Horance; it was rare to meet one person who spoke the same dialect in these lands, let alone two.

But now that feeling of doubt was back, and there was no avoiding the sense that there was something… inconsistent about all the tasks that Cordas had set forth for him since the beginning of the day.

He stepped into the open room at the end of the hall, drawing his blade. Silk-man stood near the middle of the room with two of Cordas' other followers. All three rained blows down on Archer and Black-cloak while the prisoners sat helplessly bound to a pair of plain wooden chairs. The two elves were similarly secured off to the side of the room, but they appeared untouched.

Most unsettling was that Cordas' men all wore wicked grins on their faces. It disgusted the Kara-Turian to see that someone could receive such pleasure by beating an unarmed man, even if it was a criminal. It was debasing to allow oneself to regress to such a level of barbarism.

And yet, it wasn't an isolated occurrence, either. Shen had seen this behaviour too many times on this day; Horance, the Sergeant, Silk-man, and almost every one of Cordas' followers displayed actions more befitting of lowly bandits than cultured men.

All except one. And that man was currently being beaten bloody in a chair at the middle of the chamber. Was Archer truly a criminal among civilized men? Or could it be the exact opposite?

As the samurai stepped closer, Silk-man finally took notice. He motioned for his men to stop their assault on the prisoners, and gestured Shen to come closer. As usual, the westerner began warbling on incessantly, as if he believed the samurai would somehow understand him if he tried speaking in a louder voice.

They stepped aside, affording the warrior a clear space from which to strike at the first prisoner, Archer. Shen held his katana firmly in his hand and glanced down at the steel blade.

_I already have misgivings about this scenario_, he thought, _If I strike this man down, will I further enshroud myself in dishonour?_

The light glinted off the edge of his katana. There was no greater disrespect than to coat one's blade in the blood of a person undeserving of death. To do so was the worst insult; to his soul, to his family name, to his liege back home.

No, he had to have certainty before carrying through. If Cordas and his court were honourable men, they would understand this and accede. Shen lowered his weapon and turned to Silk-man, shaking his head. "Apologies, sir, but I can only perform this execution if it can be proven that this man is –"

An infuriated look crossed Silk-man's face and he thrust a finger in Archer's direction. The man snapped off a string of angry words, and Shen noticed that the two henchman had dropped their hands to their weapons.

Shen did not reply and merely shook his head once more. It was then that Silk-man did the unthinkable; he lunged forward and tried to snatch away Shen's katana. The warrior pulled back and responded by striking Silk-man across the face with a backhand, knocking the man to the floor. Perhaps it was a mistake to place his trust in Cordas after all… "Do not try that again," Shen warned, "If you have any sense of courtesy, then you shall show proper –"

Silk-man's associates immediately unsheathed their own swords and stepped forward, standing between the Kara-turian and Silk-man. Shen merely bowed his head to the pair and took a step closer, holding his sword ready. Neither opponent appeared particularly experienced in swordplay. The one on the right was gripping his weapon in both hands, like it was too heavy to wield naturally, whereas the other on the left held his weapon at an outward angle, leaving his side wide open for attack.

However, one thing that kept the Kara-turian from making the first strike was the positioning of the pair; neither seemed willing to move beyond arm's length from his partner. So that was it, Shen realized, they were used to fighting in tandem.

The warrior's suspicion was confirmed as both enemies moved simultaneously. The left enemy swung his weapon across, forcing Shen to deflect the blow. As the enemy pulled back, his partner immediately stepped in and levelled his own weapon in a defensive pose, effectively preventing Shen from launching a counterattack against the offensive fighter.

That explained it; what Attacker and Defender lacked in raw experience, they made up for with teamwork. Shen immediately changed his strategy and held his blade wide to leave his side exposed.

Immediately, attacker made his move and slashed across again, this time aiming for Shen's neck. The samurai swung his blade back, blocking the strike, and pushed against his opponent, forcing him to fall back again. Defender then moved in to protect his partner against the inevitable counter.

This time, however, Shen thrust his blade out to the side, switching his target to Defender. The abrupt movements caught Defender slightly off guard, and he began to pull his blade in closer to protect himself. Shen struck with too much force, however, and while Defender parried the blow, he also stumbled backward, almost falling as he accidentally bumped against Silk-man.

Shen reacted instantly, turning and swinging diagonally, cutting into Attacker's now undefended left side. The man screamed and clutched his bleeding wound, collapsing to the ground as Shen pulled his weapon back.

Struggling against the stiffness in his bad knee, Shen moved closer to Archer as Defender stood back, apparently hesitant to fight alone against the samurai. Silk-man started shouting at the henchman, but obviously neither man was willing to place himself at risk.

Keeping his eyes on the remaining opponents, Shen slashed the ropes binding Archer to the chair. "Free your allies," he said, pointing to the three other prisoners. "I shall deal with the opposition."

The samurai slowly advanced on Silk-man and Defender, weapon held high. Silk-man suddenly shoved his own henchman in the back, knocking the man to the ground. Defender's sword clattered to the floor as he fell, and Silk-man used the distraction to flee out the door like a fearful mutt.

_Cowardice and cruelty_, Shen thought as he moved forward and kicked Defender's sword away. _Now I can see where the true criminals lie in this city…_

Before he could take three steps in pursuit of Silk-man, Shen felt a hard boot strike him in the back of the leg. As he collapsed forward, the warrior felt his katana being wrenched from his grasp.

Looking back, Shen saw that Black-cloak was now hovering above Kara-turian as the katana lay harmlessly on the floor. More unsettling was the fact that Black-cloak had somehow produced a thin dagger, and was now holding it ready in his left hand.

The older man's hollow, dead eyes bored into Shen, and for a moment the warrior feared that he might have made a terrible mistake by supporting these prisoners. Before Black-cloak could stab forward, a hand caught the man on the shoulder.

Archer held the killer back and said a few words to the man, and received a cold stare in return. Slowly, reluctantly, the killer lowered his arm and stepped away from the Kara-turian, spitting what must have been a venomous curse in Shen's direction. Black-cloak turned his attention to Defender, seizing the man by the shirt and forcing him toward one of the chairs.

Helping Shen to his feet, Archer continued to speak in his enigmatic language. Looking the Kara-turian in the eye, Archer held out Shen's katana and gave a single nod.

Taking the blade in his hands again, the warrior returned the gesture and gave a short bow. "I believe that I may have wronged you, archer, and for that I offer my apology." He pointed to the door and motioned in the direction of the exit.

"I will show you four the way out, then you must continue on your own." It was clear to Shen that Cordas would not be helping him find his sister after all. While it pained the warrior, he knew that he would have to wander the city in search of someone else that could understand his language.

Shen stood by the door and monitored the hallway as Archer set loose the elves. In minutes, the warrior was leading the party through the building's twisting, near-identical stone corridors.

It felt strange to the Kara-turian, having such a sudden turnabout in loyalties, but he knew that this quartet, though culturally barbaric and lacking in proper graces, did not deserve execution by his blade. Not when Cordas' men seemed to be the very picture of malice and dishonour.

(4:49)

When the group approached a T-branch in the hall, Shen came to a halt as Silk-man stepped into view on the far end of the opposite corridor. This time he was backed by five other armed henchmen, and held in his hands the blue, spherical artifact they retrieved from Cordas' main estate.

Archer stepped forward and shouted something at Silk-man, rage evident in his voice. Silk-man simply smirked and made a snapping gesture, prompting his men to advance down the hallway toward the party.

Shen grabbed Archer and pulled the westerner back. The prisoners couldn't stand against Cordas' men without proper armaments. Three were empty-handed, and Black-cloak's dagger certainly wasn't enough to protect the party.

"You all must find your own way out. It falls upon me to remedy the dishonour that I have wrought upon both myself and your city." He raised his weapon and pointed down the side-corridor toward the exit. "I will guard your retreat. Duty demands no less."

Archer stared blankly at the Kara-turian for a moment, then babbled a question of some sort.

"Leave!" Shen shouted.

Seizing Archer by the arm, Black-cloak shoved the man in the direction that Shen had motioned. The elves followed immediately, and Red-hair paused for a moment to smile and offer a quick nod to the samurai. Turning back to face the oncoming henchman, Shen quickly nodded to his opponents and steeled his grip. Six men against one. Now _this_ was the way for a warrior to test himself.

Although the corridor was wide enough for four of the men to attack at the same time, Shen had the space advantage; room to dodge, room to strike. The warrior charged ahead and swung upward, blocking two of the enemies' swords with his own.

Rather than continuing to hold his blade against them, the warrior let his momentum continue to carry him forward and he rammed his left shoulder squarely into the upper chest of the nearest foe. As the man fell back, crashing into one of his allies, Shen swung his sword out wide and abruptly sliced inward, raking the weapon across the torsos of the two henchmen to his right. The one that caught the brunt of the blow collapsed immediately, dropping his sword to hold his guts in, while the other managed to remain standing, but had to fall back against the wall for support.

A battle cry drew Shen's attention to his left, and he turned just as an explosion of pain tore through his body. A henchman had managed to thrust his sword into Shen's left side, and the Kara-turian responded by punching the man in the throat with his free hand.

The sudden movement knocked the opponent away, but also aggravated the fresh wound, causing more blood to seep out. Shen knew he was fortunate that the man had been standing beside the wall; if the enemy had room to make a full swing rather than a short thrust, it would have killed the Kara-turian outright.

Shen's blade stopped another of the opponent's attacks, sending a wave of shock running down his arm. Retreating a few steps, Shen swung his katana and slashed the man across the midsection. That made two foes down and one wounded, leaning against the opposite wall.

The remaining pair of enemies stepped cautiously, staying away from the sides of the hall so they could swing their blades freely. Shen's left hand pressed against his side, trying to keep the injury from bleeding out of control. His sword arm felt fine at the moment, but it would certainly feel sore tomorrow. Assuming he even survived that long.

Angling his katana high, Shen stood his ground and watched the pair carefully step over their fallen comrades. The Kara-turian suddenly began screaming at the top of his lungs and brazenly blasted toward the pair. The henchmen immediately stopped moving forward and angled their own blades, ready to receive his attack.

Launching a succession of quick slashes, Shen put as much strength as he could muster into his blows, keeping his enemies on the defensive. As he predicted, one of the foes was forced to take another step back to maintain his balance, but instead stepped on one of the fallen bodies. The man cried out in surprise and stumbled, allowing Shen to make a quick stab to the side, impaling the man through the abdomen.

The last uninjured opponent instantly took advantage of the Kara-turian's exposure and slashed down toward Shen's arm. The samurai tried to twist away, but still felt the edge of the enemy's blade tearing a wide gash across the length of his sword arm. Shen clenched his teeth and fell away, almost dropping his sword as he moved. While he was fortunate that it didn't cut to the bone, it was deep enough to send a river of blood streaming down his arm and off his elbow.

Shen blinked his eyes and fought to stay mentally focused. The warrior held his blade defensively and shifted his weight to his good knee. The enemy began to circle around the Kara-turian, grinning as he threw some incomprehensible threats or taunts at the samurai. Shen took a tentative step forward, an action that prompted the henchman to stop moving and maintain a ready posture.

The samurai noticed that they were now in a line; still leaning on the wall directly behind the uninjured enemy was the henchman that Shen had wounded, but not killed, just moments ago. Watching the two remaining opponents, Shen saw that the wounded man was still gripping his sword, holding it high as a last means of defense no doubt. At least their dedication to battle was admirable, if nothing else.

Staring at the uninjured foe's blade, Shen centred himself, observing the enemy's sword with unwavering focus. He launched forward and let the uninjured enemy swing his blade across. Pausing for a split second, the warrior waited for the right moment and then struck out to intercept the strike. His katana made contact immediately, but there was no clash of blades.

Instead, there was only the sound of the enemy's screams as he clutched at his wrist. An instant later, the foe's severed hand and sword clattered to the floor, accompanied by a short spray of blood.

Still clutching his bleeding stump, the enemy was too far-gone in his pain to react as Shen leaned and planted a sideways kick in his midsection. The opponent fell backward and landed against the already wounded henchman by the wall, causing both men to hit the ground.

Shen took a moment to wipe the red stain from his katana, then surveyed his fallen enemies and offered a single, silent bow of respect. The Kara-turian suddenly felt a heavy blow in the back of the knee, and Shen's leg caved in, knocking him down to a kneeling position.

Silk-man hissed something unintelligible as the warrior turned to face him. The follower of Cordas held the cold blue sphere high in his hands, apparently threatening to drop it if Shen tried to stand. Squeezing the handle of his katana, Shen stared up at his last foe.

It was obvious that he wouldn't be able to stand and slay the man before the fiend dropped the sphere, nor would Shen be fast enough to run away and evade the ice blast. He'd seen the magic of the artifact in the prior days, while speaking with Horance. It would be a near-instant effect, and Shen would barely have enough time to hold his breath, let alone escape down the hall.

_If one must die, die honourably_, Shen said in his mind. He would never submit to a foe that did not issue a proper challenge with a blade.

Without another thought, Shen swung his blade across in a flash, using all the remaining vigour in his arm to slash Silk-man across the legs, just below the kneecaps. Too slow to react, Silk-man's smug expression contorted into a grimace as he howled in pain and fell forward, letting the sphere roll from his grasp.

The Kara-turian released his katana and dived forward, arms outstretched as soon as Silk-man began to topple. Striking the ground, Shen scraped his chin along the floor and felt the frigid artifact land softly atop his forearms. The warrior grit his teeth as the cold stung his arms, freezing much of the bloodied sleeve on his sword arm. He had no idea how Silk-man was able to touch the sphere without problem, but that thought was pushed aside. Shen was just relieved that the sphere didn't land hard enough to release its blast.

Silk-man fell atop the samurai's back, screaming in agony. Still holding the sphere, Shen shifted his shoulders and body, pushing the enemy off. The foe made a pathetic attempt to claw at Shen, howling so loud that the samurai couldn't tell if he was even forming clear words or not.

Shen managed to climb to his feet and left the man sprawled on the floor, sparing no quarter of mercy for the dishonourable dog's life. Wincing against the cold, the Kara-turian carefully moved the ice sphere to the crook of his left arm and felt the aura sting at his side as he glanced up and down the hall. While he had won the battle, the war had yet to conclude. Cordas was still out there.

(4:58)

With a few quick, clean strokes of his katana, Shen finished off those enemies that were still breathing, then put his weapon away and stepped down the hall toward the exit. As the pulse of battle wore off, Shen could feel the constant pain coming from his untreated wounds.

The Kara-turian held his forehead as the walls seemed to wobble. How much blood had he lost? His sword arm was drenched with red, as was the left side of his tunic. Staggering slightly, Shen managed to find his way to the door and practically fell through the exit to the alleyway outside.

In the dim lighting, the samurai managed to set the ice sphere down on the dirt before collapsing to his hands and knees. Why did he carry the sphere with him? Perhaps it was simply delirium from the blood loss.

The world began to blur as Shen noticed four figures rushing toward him from the end of the alley, but he paid them no mind. Instead, his eyes focused on the distance behind them, and the Kara-turian saw the white tower, the one that Cordas was traveling to for the final phase of his plan.

Shen's arms gave out, and he hit the dirt as the four figures crowded around him. With his remaining strength, he struggled to point a finger at the white spire. If he was to perish, then it fell on these strangers to halt Cordas' crimes.

"Cordas," Shen whispered as his head went down, "Seek him out there, at the tower… Cordas…"

Just before consciousness slipped away, Shen couldn't help but wonder if his attempt to rectify Cordas' crimes would restore even a small part of his honour. It was a comforting thought, at least.

The samurai released his breath and passed out. Perhaps the quest was not over just yet.

**(5:00 PM)**


	13. Turning Point

**Dramatis Personae**

_Criminal Insurgents_

_Lord Pryus, Unknown_

_Cordas, Crimelord_

_Opposition_

_Norris Delaen, Exiled Ranger_

_Shen, Kara-tur Samurai_

_Selena Shademoor, Priestess of Tyr_

_Cerdan Engeven, Guildmaster_

_Dace, Mercenary_

_Cyrael, Astral Deva_

_Church of Tyr_

_Galin Saudere, High Prelate_

_Charell, Cleric_

**Author's Note: **Please don't put spoilers in your reviews. Thank you.

* * *

**Turning Point **

**(5:00 PM)**

"I think he's still alive, but he's lost too much blood!" Selena shouted as she checked the easterner for life signs. The priestess looked around at the others, then pointed to the weapon in Dace's hand. "You! Give me your dagger, I need to cut a swath of cloth for a makeshift bandage."

Dace did not make any movements. "No."

Norris suddenly lunged in, shoving the mercenary in the side while snatching the weapon from his hand, then passed it to the priestess.

The mercenary immediately moved close to the ranger and leaned forward. "Try that again, and I will use that same blade to cut off your hand."

"This man saved our lives." Norris said, turning slowly to face the blackheart. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then you have not been paying attention."

"Be quiet, both of you!" said the elven woman as she slashed a length of yellow cloth from the base of her own robe. The priestess frantically cut off the easterner's bloody sleeve and wrapped his arm in the fabric. "This will only slow the bleeding; he needs a healer's art as soon as possible, and most of my healing spells are already expended. We have to take him back to the temple right now or he'll die!"

"Agreed," Norris replied. The ranger looked toward Dace. "Unless of course you intend to oppose us?"

Sneering at all members of the group, Dace gave a short shrug. "I will comply, but only because the easterner indicated to us that Cordas is proceeding toward the tower. It matters very little to me whether this foreigner lives or dies."

While he didn't bother pressing the matter, Norris snorted at the man's callousness. At least he was going along with their next course of action. The ranger glanced up at the Tower of Tyr, hovering over the district like an ivory giant.

So his journey had now come full circle; he was heading back to that accursed tower once more in order to save the life of a friend. His hatred for the knights and clerics still burned in his heart, but as he watched the red-haired priestess desperately working to preserve a stranger's life, Norris couldn't deny that perhaps there were _some_ faithmongers who genuinely desired to save others.

Maybe there was some stock in faith after all. Cyrael certainly seemed to voice that belief. Wait…

"What happened to the celestial?" Norris asked aloud, glancing around. The others looked about as well, noticing the astral deva's absence for the first time.

Cerdan scratched his head. "Say, that _is_ odd. He was last with us back at Cordas' brothel on Southside Row. I thought he was with you two…" He pointed at Norris and Dace. "While I was working on the vault."

"Clearly he abandoned you," muttered the mercenary, "Perhaps you misjudged his good will."

As if on cue, a gust of wind swept through the alley and a familiar figure in a white coat emerged from behind the nearby wagon. "Mind your words, blackheart, for not all think and act the same way as yourself."

The mercenary frowned as the blond celestial approached and eyed the man with clear distrust.

"I apologize for failing to intervene on your behalf," the celestial said in his echoing voice, "But it was imperative that I keep my presence hidden from the crimelord's associates. And it was necessary to allow your capture so that we might gain better awareness of Cordas' objectives."

"Was it necessary for poor Shen here to donate a gallon of blood as well?" Cerdan murmured.

"I did not expect that to occur, but I assure you that my cause is just. The safety of Faerun is at stake, and sometimes it may be necessary for a single man to make a sacrifice for the greater good. There is no greater honour or glory than that."

The celestial's eyes fell on the blue ice sphere, sitting on the ground beside the easterner. Without demanding explanation or details, he walked over and picked it up in his bare hands, not showing even the slightest sign of discomfort.

"If we intend to leave this place, then something must be done about that artifact. I can sense its aura; it is far too dangerous a weapon to be abandoned here," he said, voice echoing, "If there are no objections, I shall move it to a place where it cannot harm others."

"Yes, of course." Selena gave an absent nod to the celestial, then returned to treating the easterner's wounds.

"It could be useful in the future," said Dace.

Sending a dark gaze at the mercenary, Cyrael closed his eyes and spoke a few words. The ice sphere was instantly enveloped in a burning yellow light before vanishing from his hands into thin air. Dace continued to glare silently, but voiced no other protests.

Selena motioned for Norris to help her lift the Kara-turian. The ranger took Shen by one arm and Cerdan came forward to take the other. With some difficulty, they managed to lift the easterner high enough to carry him toward the temple.

"We think the easterner was trying to tell us that Cordas is heading for the tower," Norris said over his shoulder to Cyrael, "Just before Shen came outside, the priestess told us that she thinks Cordas is planning to steal some artifact called 'the Sigil'."

"The Sigil of the Fallen," Selena corrected, bringing out the second Sigil that Dace had given to the party. "The two amulets each carry some divine essence and enough power to destroy an entire city. I have no idea how this 'Cordas' would come to know of it, though."

Norris followed as she led the group away from Cordas' hideout, and they began to make their way toward the tower.

"If the crimelord is on his way to the tower, no doubt he'll be heading for the chamber on the top floor. There is a hidden portal there that opens to a tiny pocket plane where we store our most dangerous relics and curios. That's why he ordered you to break into our basement vault, ranger." Selena glanced back, looking Norris in the eye. "The item they stole was the portal key."

_Then all that has happened, all that _will_ happen, is partly my fault_, Norris thought to himself. _Will there be even more blood on my hands?_

The ranger shook his head slightly, trying to push the doubts from his mind. No, they were right. They all were… Norris had to stop lamenting about the past and future, and focus on what was going on _now_. Setting his sights on the Tower of Tyr, Norris stepped with renewed vigour, ready to face his final encounter with Cordas.

(5:07)

"Well, it certainly was a lucky break that the easterner suddenly decided to help us, wouldn't you say?" Cerdan cracked a grin at Selena. The priestess said nothing and continued to march forward, not even acknowledging the thief with a glance.

"After all, I had him pegged for an average thug. Good thing I don't know everything, right?"

Again, she paid him no heed.

"By the way, I like what you've done with the hem of your robe. I think I can see you ankles now," he said with a smirk, glancing down at the torn part of her garb.

"Shut up," she suddenly growled, wheeling to face the rogue. "You have no right to make light of everything that's happened, not after what you and that blackheart did!"

Their companions paused as Selena stopped, watching the two elves with uneasiness. Cerdan cleared his throat and held Shen's arm out to Cyrael. The celestial quickly gave his support to the Kara-turian, and the others continued off in the tower's direction, leaving the elves to follow up from behind on their own.

"You." Selena thrust a finger in Cerdan's direction. "I specifically told you that I wouldn't abide by the murder of that man back at that brothel."

"Tavros, his name was Tavros. And yes, it was a mistake, but only because he didn't know anything useful after all."

"That's beside the point!" she said, "I _knew _the blackheart wasn't going to stop his torture of that prisoner, and I depended on you to restrain that madman. You are as responsible for his death as the mercenary! I may have been able to overlook some of your usual… indiscretions committed with your thieves' guild, but cold murder! That's a crime that goes beyond my personal tolerance for what you do."

Cerdan shrugged and continued walking. "If you think _that's_ bad, you should hear about all the worse crimes I've committed. For example, there was this one time back in Waterdeep, when I –"

"Stop it, I don't want to hear about any more of your atrocities!" Selena dashed in front of him. "This isn't something you get to joke about. I wish I didn't have to take action against you, but it's something that can't be ignored…"

Letting the smile leave his face, Cerdan gave the priestess his full attention. " And what, praytell, do you intend to do? Arrest me? Kick me out of your intrepid band?"

"The only reason I'm letting you continue to accompany us is because we're heading toward my tower. After we have dealt with Cordas, you can be sure that I will personally take both you and that blackheart into custody."

On the inside, Cerdan was still smirking. She was naive, there was no doubt about that, but he admired her utter devotion to her beliefs. It kept her… uncorrupted. It wasn't easy to find people like that, especially not in his walk of life.

On the flip side of the coin, he was also immensely disappointed in the red-haired elf. It truly pained him that she was always so quick to judge. Her naiveté was something that she'd have to work on some day. Maybe if the priestess didn't live such a stiff and cloistered life… After all, even Cyrael acknowledged that the greater good sometimes outweighed the drastic measures taken to achieve your goals.

"Well," Cerdan slowly replied, "I can't say I'm pleased with your decision, but I know you'll do whatever you feel is right. Believe it or not, I _do_ have faith in you. I'm just sorry that you can't say the same about me." He took on a more serious tone. "Sometimes, a person has to do the wrong thing for the right reasons. I just hope you never have to make such a decision yourself."

With that said, Cerdan continued past her in pursuit of the other members of their party. She was probably wondering why he was still following rather than fleeing into the nearest crowd. It that was true, then she obviously didn't know him quite as well as she should. No doubt she was still glaring at him from behind, but there was little he could do about that for now. He looked up at the tower, wondering what new twist fate would throw at him next.

(5:12)

_Such former opulence_, thought Cordas as he gazed upon the gold statue of Tyr. He stared at the blade indentation that his men left in the middle of the of the idol's forehead. _Good to see the bloody faithmongers taken down by a peg…or more._

The crimelord looked about the wide central concourse of the temple as men and women rushed about, nearly oblivious to his presence. They were currently wheeling carts across the damp floor, hurrying to get the frozen corpses out of the building before they thawed out. Other knights were watchfully keeping guard over the room, occasionally barking orders to search every person that approached the main gates.

"But not so watchful as a diviner would be," Cordas said under his breath. Taking a moment to adjust his green cloak, the old man knew that his disguise was effective enough to fool any faithmongers he crossed. The paladins at the gate did not cry afoul when they examined the unicorn pendant at Cordas' neck. They truly believed the crimelord was a faithful of Mielikki.

No doubt Norris was dead by now. It was a shame, really, to have waited all this time and then miss the chance to witness the ranger's demise. At least he left a valuable memento; perhaps the pendant would be useful in future tasks, when the crimelord established new operations away from Baldur's Gate.

_Patience_, he chastised himself, _don't become smitten with future prospects. Focus on the present task_. Grinning to himself, Cordas walked toward the stairs and began his ascent to the room at the tower's apex.

(5:15)

Selena glanced back at her allies, all standing at the edge of the road and beyond earshot. How would she justify their presence to the paladins? She approached the main gate alone and caught the attention of a knight standing guard.

"Priestess Shademoor!" he called, hurrying to meet her. "It's good that you've returned, we have a situation…"

The elf shook her head. "I'm sorry, but whatever it is must wait. There is an insurgent in the tower, and I need someone to organize a squad of knights, _without_ the attention of the High Prelate or any of his Royal Horsemen." She ran a finger over her forehead. "Also, I have some… associates that must be granted entry to the temple."

At that moment, they were joined by a familiar cleric of Tyr. Selena nodded to the newcomer and noted the woman's worried expression. "Hello, Charell… is something wrong?"

Charell nodded rapidly. "Several things, priestess. After you left, there was a magical assault on our premises. We couldn't even get inside until a little over an hour ago."

"What?" Selena pushed past the pair and approached the archway. She immediately brought a hand over her mouth as she laid eyes on the mutilated, frozen corpses littering the large foyer. Sections of the room were still covered in the blue ice, and the bright tapestries that adorned the walls were now soggy and noticeably faded. "Oh, gods…"

"There's something else, priestess," Charell continued, "Just before the attack, Prelate Saudere issued an order to his Royal Horsemen that you be detained and brought before him. He's convinced that you're in league with some criminal elements in the city."

Selena felt her cheeks burning, but kept her hand over the lower part of her face.

"But he has since sent most of his personal guard out into the western districts of the city… he thinks that the Shadow Thieves are providing refuge to Caden the Bloodletter. Our own knights and clergy are too busy with the recovery to be bothered with apprehending you, but if and when the Royal Horsemen get back…"

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Selena nodded and placed a hand on the cleric's shoulder. "Thank you for everything you've done, Charell. I'll go see the Prelate myself, but first I need to deal with another matter. We have an infiltrator in the building, and I need you to start assembling as many able bodies as you can…"

(5:17)

"This is taking too long," Cerdan murmured as the five others stood by the road outside the temple gates. "I don't like the looks of this." He narrowed his eyes at the priestess in the distance, but her back was turned, so he couldn't read her lips.

Norris shrugged and gesture around. "I imagine it's no small matter to let people like _us_ into the building. Especially me." Who could blame her for being overly cautious? After their heist earlier in the day, it was mind-boggling to believe they would openly permit a party of thieves and killers to traipse around the temple grounds.

"Mmm. All the same, I think it would be better if I find my own way in. Scout out the place from the shadows within."

"Yes, because we all know how well that went back at Cordas' place on Southside Row…" Norris cleared his throat and made a subtle nod toward the black-clad mercenary.

Cerdan shrugged and began to stalk off. "You're forgetting that these are paladins we're dealing with now; they wouldn't know stealth if it came down from the heavens and smote them on the spot."

Shaking his head slightly at the elf's nonsense, Norris looked back toward the priestess in the distance. While he couldn't make out any words, he could clearly see the priestess locked in a heated discussion with a young cleric of Tyr. The elf was constantly pointing through the gates at the temple and she kept on brushing a hand across her forehead. Oddly enough, they seemed more concerned with something inside the temple than with Norris and the others.

"Perhaps we should just march our way past them," said the ranger, "It's not as if they'll just turn away a wounded man… before demanding payment, at least."

"You talk too much," Dace replied, folding his arms.

"Do not assume such a manner of speech toward those who are your moral superiors," intoned Cyrael, "Were I free to do so, I might exact righteous judgment upon you."

"And yet, you have made it abundantly clear that you are _not_ free to perform such acts, so I care little for your personal vendettas."

Norris loudly cleared his voice again, hoping to keep their argument from escalating. "Look there, the priestess is returning." The others fell silent as Selena made her way toward them from the temple gates.

"You may approach the temple," she began, "but you must follow me closely. There have been several… developments that have put my people on guard, and they will be wary of any strangers in the building."

"But not wary enough to prevent the entry of a crimelord planning to rob their vaults," muttered Dace.

Ignoring the mercenary's remark, the priestess continued, "I've also ordered some of the temple's clerics to – hold, what happened to Cerdan?"

"Ah," Norris said, glancing around, "he grew impatient, so he went to find his own way inside the temple."

"Damnation… that idiot." The elf woman looked around, but couldn't spot the thief anywhere within sight on the temple grounds.

Norris remained quiet on the subject, knowing that pushing this matter might put her past her wit's end. Besides, they had a more important criminal to track down. "Well, what about Cordas? Is there any sign?"

Selena faced the ranger. "No, unfortunately my people cannot be certain if they saw a man matching his description or not. You'll need to keep watch for him when we're inside. In any case, you should all refrain from interacting with any faithful we encounter, and let me do the talking. They won't stop you so long as I am escorting you, but do not forget that the permission to enter this tower is a privilege.

"We'll leave the easterner with some of our clerics, then the rest of us will begin the ascent to the upper vault. Now come, and remain aware. I've asked my friend Charell to gather a squadron of paladins and then meet us at the tower-top. If we hurry, we may find this 'Cordas' before he gets too far."

(5:23)

"Caden, you're here somewhere," Prelate Saudere growled aloud as he stared out the window at the cityscape. The elderly man's knuckles were white as he gripped the marble sill. The Bloodletter was out there, no doubt hiding his face like a coward and probably laughing all the while. "But you won't laugh for long, once you're bound in chains and awaiting the taste of justly retribution."

The Prelate pushed away from the window and paced across his chamber. With the number of knights and guards they had deployed to the city's east end, it should only be a matter of time before they uncovered the villain's nest. Even his best paladin, Sir Rennemar, was leading the search, and would no doubt yield results.

He could hear voices coming from outside his chamber door, but Saudere tried to ignore them. Somehow, all of today's events had to be linked to the Bloodletter. The theft from the temple's basement vault, Priestess Shademoor's mysterious correspondence, the golden insects, and the ice attack… it was all connected, and that female elf had to be at the root of it.

"I should have known from the beginning," he grumbled, "Elves cannot be trusted."

The sounds beyond his door continued, and the Prelate finally caved and moved to the door to find out what was the matter.

He could hear a female voice through the door's wood paneling. "…and you're the first person I've come to. She needs you and some other paladins to join her just outside the upper vault."

"I'm supposed to be guarding the High Prelate while his Royal Horsemen are out."

"Yes, but we may have a more immediate problem, perhaps a continuation of today's earlier theft…"

Saudere yanked the door open and found the cleric, Charell, speaking with an armoured man in the hallway. "What is the meaning of this nonsense? I'm trying to concen–" He froze as his eyes fell on the armoured man' face. The Prelate instantly recognized that villainous identity.

"Caden the Bloodletter! Foul murderer, I'll see you punished for your vile crimes, you monster!" He instantly lunged toward the man, but Charell immediately grabbed the Prelate by the shoulders.

"Sir, wait, calm yourself! That's not the Bloodletter, that's one of our knights!"

Saudere blinked for a moment at the startled man, and realized that it was just a young human paladin, and in fact looked _nothing _like the Bloodletter. The Prelate lowered his arms and straightened his posture. "Ahem. Of course, my mistake."

"Are you feeling well, High Prelate?" asked Charell, "This is the third time today that you've accused someone of being the Bloodletter."

"Never mind that, what is this 'more immediate problem' you were discussing just now?"

The cleric briefly glanced at the paladin. "Uh, it's not so critical as I may have made it sound. I'm sure there are better things for you to deal with, anyway." She quickly bowed and began to back away.

"Hold there," Saudere ordered. He leaned in close toward Charell, "Have there been any findings concerning the priestess' golden insects?"

"Oh, yes sir. One of our diviners found that they're magical constructs, designed to leave a faint ethereal trail in whomever they sting. We don't know what purpose they serve yet, but –"

"I know their purpose. Priestess Shademoor is in league with the Bloodletter. Show me to this diviner, perhaps they can answer some other questions I possess."

"Uh, I'm already occupied with a few other tasks, Prelate, but I'm sure your escort would be willing to –"

Saudere fixed her with a harsh gaze. "Do not defy my orders, cleric. I outrank anyone else in this building. Obey your duty."

Charell swallowed and nodded to the Prelate. Saudere couldn't be certain, but her shaky composure indicated that she was hiding something. Bah, he shook the thought from his mind and motioned for the young woman to lead on. Right now he had a more pressing threat to deal with.

(5:29)

Norris couldn't concentrate on anything, not with so much weighing on his mind right now. He barely paid any attention as the party passed through the damp concourse to hand Shen over to the clerics, and even less as the priestess led them up the first spiral stairway toward the upper levels of the tower.

Cordas was up there waiting for them, and Norris was running through dozens of different possible scenarios in his mind. Most involved the old man having his head cut off by the fallen ranger. Sighing loudly, Norris shook his head and rubbed his temples. The crimelord deserved to die, Norris had no doubt about that, but he couldn't shake the unpleasant stirring in the back of his head that kept telling him to reconsider his intentions.

If he killed Cordas, what would that mean for his future? The priestess made it abundantly clear that she was abhorrent of killing for any purpose. No doubt she would instantly arrest the ranger, should he exact the final blow to end Cordas' life. Would that be worth the penalty?

"You appear drowned in thought, ranger," Cyrael suddenly whispered. "Do you intend to strike the crimelord down?"

Norris hesitated in replying, completely lost on what he should say.

Before he could form an answer, Dace cut in. "It makes little difference. If he does not murder Cordas, _I_ will." The volume of the mercenary's voice drew the eyes of several clerics standing nearby as the party passed through the corridor.

The elven priestess wasted no time pouncing on the mercenary's words. "Is that your immediate answer to everything, you blackheart?" she snapped, "Unbridled violence, and nothing else?"

"Not a problem in the world that cannot be solved by killing the right fool."

"Horrible," she scoffed. Norris observed her hand make a fist, and then release. "Do not assume that such actions can escape punishment indefinitely. And there are better, more forgiving methods than wanton killing."

Shrugging, the mercenary set his gaze forward and continued on. "Forgiveness is overrated. Vengeance is a far more _human_ course of action. That is something you clearly cannot grasp."

"Barbarian," she muttered under her breath as they approached the second spiral staircase.

Their conversation made Norris feel as if he was torn between the opposite sides of his own conscience. _I can't change the past_, he said inwardly, _but what of my future?_

He absently touched the back of his neck, but couldn't feel anything. Cyrael's pain-dulling magic wouldn't last forever; he was still doomed if he didn't receive the cure. _If I am to die, then I'm taking Cordas with me. But Shen was already dying on one of the floors below... Deep down, would he want me to live, so long as justice is carried out against Cordas?_

Justice or vengeance? He once had a clear understanding of both concepts. Now Norris didn't know what he would do when he faced Cordas. He began to climb the first steps of the stairwell and looked up as the others followed the priestess toward the top.

There was no going back. There was nothing he could do to take back all the pain and suffering that had been wrought up to this day. No more distractions or diversions. For Norris, after so long, it was finally time to discover who he really was.

(5:35)

Gripping the handle, Cordas gave the metal knob a twist. The metal vault door was locked, naturally, but it was a simple matter for the crimelord to unravel the spell scroll he carried hidden in the sleeve of his green robes. He quickly spoke the words upon the parchment and concentrated on the keyhole in the door. The Knock spell slowly took effect, and he could hear a series of 'clicking' noises from within the locking mechanism.

Of course, the simple door wasn't the main defense of the faithmongers' vault. No, the true defense was the vault's camouflage; perhaps the knights weren't so inept when it came to stealth, after all. Then again, they hadn't done a particularly good job of keeping men like Cordas from penetrating the hidden room.

Cordas pushed the door open and stepped inside. This was the sole chamber at the height of the tower, and it was almost completely devoid of furnishings. The sole object in the dusty room was a tall, grey marble archway that stood directly in the middle.

A large window was visible at the back on the opposite wall, and was currently sealed shut, blocking the view of the outside. With no light source beyond the lone torch outside in the spiral stairwell, Cordas had to move to the back of the chamber and with much difficulty, managed to force the shutters open, letting the orange sunlight stream in from just above the horizon in the west.

Was it nearly sunset already? Cordas turned to the marble arch, knowing that time was running short. All he had to do was remove the Sigil of the Fallen from the pocket plane, then meet with Pryus' associates at the palace. Then the crimelord would be free to pursue his own goals, independently of the red lord's interference.

He removed the small metallic box from within his pocket and opened it. Inside lay the portal key; a tiny piece of diamond, cut in the shape of a holy symbol of Tyr. Cordas smirked, knowing that Norris would be outraged, had the ranger known that this miniscule bauble was the true reason for the heist earlier in the day.

The old man tossed the metal box aside and held the diamond symbol out before the archway. As soon as the stone came within a metre of the arch, a flat swirl of violet mists appeared at the centre of the structure, opening a clear portal to the secret pocket plane that lay within.

Cordas grinned to himself as he strode through, ready to seize the Sigil and approach the finale of his mission at long last.

(5:41)

"Curses," Selena mumbled, peering back down the stairs. "Where is Charell? She was supposed to meet us here with backup."

"Do you truly require an entire squadron to arrest a single old man," asked Dace, "or did you want to have your men in place to arrest _us?_"

"No, just _you_, blackheart," she replied without missing beat.

Norris groaned softly, hoping they weren't going to start this again.

The mercenary continued as an open doorway came into view at the top end of the staircase. "Perhaps you would arrest the ranger as well, then. Did he not tell you that he is no different than I? He worked for Cordas as a hired killer. How many people has _he_ slain in cold blood for his own purposes?"

The elf stopped and turned to the ranger. "Wait, is this true? You never told me you _killed _people for the crimelord…"

Norris suddenly shoved past them. "Enough of this chatter. You won't keep me from Cordas."

Ignoring the protests from the red-haired priestess, the ranger stormed into the chamber and saw the archway with its magical swirling doorway at the centre of the room. A moment later, a robed man in green emerged on the opposite side, his back to Norris, and the portal winked shut as the old man flicked a tiny gemstone out the window. Looped in his other hand was a flat, fist-sized amulet.

(5:45)

Selena started forward after the ranger, but there was a sudden burst of light and heat from the side, and a sword made of pure flame appeared before her, blocking the elf from reaching Norris.

Cyrael held his weapon out horizontally, and slowly shook his head at the priestess. "No. This is _his_ battle to fight. We have done all that we can to show him the path to salvation. Now it rests solely on the ranger himself to decide whether or not he will walk it." His voice continued to reverberate as he spoke, "I am sorry, but it isn't our place to interfere."

(5:46)

"Cordas!" Norris bellowed, charging toward the man at top speed.

The crimelord spun around at the sound of Norris' voice and appeared stunned for a moment with his eyes wide. He then started to fumble at his breast pocket, no doubt to remove the antidote vial. Norris collided with the old man, seizing his arm just as the green phial came out. Cordas was slammed against the base of the window behind, but managed to keep hold of the antidote.

"Let go of me or I'll drop it!" shouted the crimelord, dangling his arm back and holding the vial out.

"I don't care any more, you old man! We either see the Nine Hells together, or not at all!"

Cordas growled and swung the vial forward, apparently trying to smash the glass against the ranger's face in a desperate move to gain the upper hand in their fight. Norris caught the crimelord's arm and cracked it hard against the low wall. The movement caused Cordas to lose his hold on the object, and the vial fell from his hand before rolling away across the floor.

Norris slammed his forehead into Cordas' face, dazing the older man and giving the ranger the momentary advantage. With all his strength, Norris hoisted Cordas up by the shirt onto the window sill and put his arms out, threatening to drop the old man over the edge.

"Gaah! N-no, don't do this!" Cordas cried, tightly gripping Norris by the wrists. The old man braved a glance over the side as a light wind blew in from the west. Norris knew they were at the highest point of the entire city. Even with so many healers nearby, there was no possible way that the old man could survive a fall from this height.

Norris leaned forward and brought his face close to Cordas. "You destroyed me. Because of you, I lost everything I believed in, everything I ever had." He let those statements hang in the air as beads of sweat started to pour down the crimelord's brow. All it would take was to let go, and let gravity finish off the old man…

Still sneering, Norris suddenly pulled back, yanking the old man back inside and tossing him to the floor of the chamber. "But I also destroyed myself," hissed the ranger, "Maybe I can't change who I was in the past, maybe I don't know if I have a future. But I can control who I _am_, here and now. And I won't let myself fall any further."

Norris leaned close and tore the unicorn pendant off of Cordas' neck. "You don't deserve to wear this. I want you to suffer for what you've done… the priestess is going to arrest you, and I intend to make sure you never walk free again."

"You'll go to prison too, Norris," growled the old man, "You've killed people in cold blood before. Even if it was under my orders, it was _your_ choice to follow them." He waved toward the green vial that had rolled to the other side of the room. "Are you really willing to give up a new life like that?"

"We'll see what happens. For once in my life, I am more focused on the present than ever before."

The ranger bent down and took the black Sigil from the ground. He continued to stare silently at Cordas as he heard the priestess and the others approach from behind.

"Well chosen, ranger," said Selena, smiling broadly. "You've done admirably. I promise you, I'll see to it personally that Cordas is imprisoned for a very long time for his crimes."

Norris nodded to her, and handed the Sigil to the elf. "I take it you'll want to keep this some place secure…"

"Yes, but I saw Cordas throw the portal key out the window…" She brought out the second Sigil of Fallen that Dace had given her earlier. "These artifacts are far too dangerous to remain here. The many incursions to the tower are proof of that."

On the other side of the room, near the doorway, Norris could see Cyrael pointing at Dace.

"Remain here, blackheart," uttered the celestial, "I will not allow you to enter this room and disturb all that has been accomplished here." Dace snorted and folded his arms, then leaned against the wall of the stairwell outside.

Stepping toward the ranger and priestess, Cyrael gestured toward the Sigils. "Priestess, I have a solution for you. Other evil forces will attempt to seize those artifacts some day, and you will not always have fortune and allies on your side. With your permission, I may isolate these relics in a place beyond the planes, as I did earlier with the sphere of ice. I can truthfully assure you that no being shall ever use them for wicked ends again."

"Thank you," Selena bowed her head and presented the Sigils to the celestial. With that done, the priestess pointed to the green phial on the ground by the window. "Well, ranger, now that this problem is dealt with, you may be cured of your ailment." Shielding her eyes so that she couldn't see the window, Selena walked toward the antidote vial.

Norris cast a final glare at Cordas, then silently turned away from the old man and gazed out the window as the sun began to fall below the horizon. "I feel at ease already…" he whispered. For once, he let a smile appear on his lips. "I imagine our quest is now complete; there is nothing left to be done."

"Well," said Cyrael from behind the ranger, "I would not be so certain of those words."

The blade of a flaming sword suddenly burst out through the front of Norris' chest.

(5:57)

The ranger's body went tense as the sword of fire then slashed across, searing its way out of Norris' torso. A moment later, the human's legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground in a heap, hands stiffened like claws as he grasped at the massive, blackened hole in his torso.

"Great gods, what are you doing!" screamed the elf, staring wide-eyed at the astral deva as he dismissed the fiery sword from his hand.

Cyrael said nothing and raised his arms in the air. A cyclone of wind rose up from his feet and quickly encircled his entire body, throwing off his white coat and allowing the celestial to spread his white wings at full spread.

In an instant, the blackheart appeared in the doorway to the celestial's left, obviously attracted by the commotion. Before either Dace or Selena could take a step toward him, Cyrael swung his arms across his chest like a long 'x', pointing an open hand against each opponent.

Two fierce gusts of wind erupted from the celestial's form, knocking back both elf and human. Dace was hurled off his feet, striking his head against the back wall as he fell. His limp body continued to tumble loudly down the staircase, quickly disappearing from view. Selena cried out in shock as she was tossed back and thrown out the tower window by the massive winds, also falling away out of sight.

Cyrael made a flicking gesture with his wrists, and the winds blew against the door and window shutters, slamming both shut. Lowering his hands in the now-darkened room, the celestial paced toward Cordas, who was still curled up on the ground and now cowering in the shadows against the wall.

"Wh-what is this? I don't understand. By the gods, what are you doing!" wailed the old man.

With a single snapping, gesture, Cyrael summoned the flame sword into his hand once more, creating a sole blaze of light in the blackness of the chamber. Without any hesitation at all, the astral deva swung the burning blade across, cleaving the human crimelord's head from his shoulders in a single motion.

"What am I doing?" Cyrael repeated softly, "Merely saving the world."

The celestial closed his eyes and lowered his arms, allowing his sword to dissipate into the air. A moment later, his entire winged form was enveloped in a golden light, and the room was filled with a violent gale. In seconds, the light began to fade away into nothingness, and Cyrael was vanished from the tower.

(5:59)

He couldn't see anything, nor could he feel anything below his neck. A short wheezing sound that came from his own lips was the only sign that he was still conscious, though clearly not for long. Norris tried to lift his head, but couldn't move it beyond a slight roll to the side.

The ranger could feel the tip of his old unicorn pendant pressed between his cheek and the floor. It felt cool to the touch, and caused no burning pain as it once had. It was a comforting thought, at the least.

_Why did this happen_, he wondered, too dizzy to focus on anything, _is this the end…_

Norris' eyes felt heavy, and finally closed as he felt a coldness creeping over him. _It's not such a…_

_I feel… I feel…_

And with that, Norris Delaen was gone.

**(6:00 PM) Dusk**


	14. Bloodletter

**Bloodletter**

**(6:00 PM)**

"Speak to me, what do we have?" asked Charell as she sprinted up the stairs in pursuit, jumping two steps at a time.

The paladin glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Two of our acolytes heard a commotion of some sort coming from the vault further up the stairs. I found a black-clad stranger lying on the steps when I went up to investigate."

They moved up around another bend in the spiral stairwell and came across an unconscious middle-aged man sprawled upside-down on the stairs. Pushing the paladin aside, Charell squeezed past and bent down beside the body to examine the stranger. A heavy series of bruises were visible on the man's face, including a particularly large, dark blemish at the back of his head. By the way his body was laid out, Charell guessed that he incurred most of the injuries while falling down the stairs.

"He's still breathing. Take him down below and see to it he's secured in an empty prison cell before summoning a healer. Whoever he is, he clearly doesn't belong here." The cleric tilted her head to the left. The man's face looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't connect a name to him. Perhaps this was the tower intruder that the priestess mentioned. "Inform the Prelate as well, this man might have some connection to the Bloodletter."

Charell left the paladin to take care of the intruder, and she raced up the remaining steps on her own. The vault door had been left unlocked, and opened easily into the darkened chamber. Squinting in the shadows, the cleric couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary, so she crossed the room and gave a tug on the window shutters. A dim, orange light spilled into the room, but only offered slight illumination, as the sun was almost completely below the sea on the western horizon.

Charell turned around and yelped when she saw the two bodies lying on the floor on either side of the marble archway. They sported heavy black-scored wounds; one man was decapitated, the other cleaved through the torso, and both were clearly dead beyond recovery.

The cleric took a step back and rested a hand against the windowsill for support. The priestess already said that she was on her way to this room… so what happened to her?

(6:04)

She couldn't see or move. Despite the menacing feeling of gravity attempting to yank her down to her death, she couldn't muster up the willpower to pull herself up. Selena's hands felt paralyzed, gripping the stone window ledge as if her flesh was already in a death pose.

The elf didn't dare to open her eyes, either. Right now, with the wind blowing past her dangling form, it took every bit of concentration just to keep her breathing under control. Her stomach felt as if it was slowly being twisted, a painfully familiar feeling that brought her back to the day of the Verskul incident.

She never had a fear of heights until that day. Several times, she had been thrown over the side of some of the tallest buildings in the city. It was only through random chance that she managed to survive, but the experiences must have left an impression in the elf's mind, which was now keeping frozen and barely responsive to anything around her.

A voice yelled something from directly overhead, but to Selena, it sounded as if the person was miles away. More frantic shouting followed, but it was all drowned out under the pounding of her own heartbeat and the sound of her rapid breathing.

Moments later, she felt several hands grab her by the wrists and slowly, carefully, hoist her up and pull her forward across the windowsill, back into the vault room.

"Priestess, what happened here?"

"Are you alright?"

"Who are these dead men, and how did they enter the vault?"

The questions assaulted her burning ears the moment she touched the floor, but the elf was still far too nauseous to offer any sort of reply. With an abrupt motion at the silvery blur in front of her, she groaned and waved the paladins away, then moved to a spot by the wall a good distance from the window. Leaning against the stone, holding her forehead with one hand, Selena continued to breathe slowly until her heartbeat returned to normal.

Glancing around, she saw that Charell was currently directing a few paladins as they lifted the bodies onto stretchers. At this point, the unpleasant feeling of Selena's phobia was slowly fading away, gradually being replaced by the unpleasant memory of the betrayal. Three men, all murdered by the celestial.

Had he played them from the start? What was his connection to the Sigils? Why did he go through this whole charade? And most importantly… how did the Bloodletter play into all this?

"Priestess?" asked Charell, coming back to Selena's side, "Are you calmed now?"

"I'm responsible for all this…" said the elf, "I trusted him, I brought him inside the tower, and now these people have perished as a result."

The expression on the cleric's face clearly showed that she didn't fully understand what Selena was talking about, but Charell didn't press too hard on the matter. "If you want some more time to centre yourself…"

"No. No, we need to organize some search parties immediately. An… outsider known as 'Cyrael' has absconded with the Sigils of the Fallen. This is a serious matter, and if–"

"There may be a problem there, priestess," Charell said, shaking her head. "We're already shorthanded due to the recent attacks and recovery effort. The only spare hands would be the Prelate's Royal Horsemen, they should be returning soon from their sortie to the city's east side."

Selena ran a shaky finger over her forehead. "Fine, I'll have to convince the High Prelate to lend support to our needs, then."

Charell nodded and cast her eyes around the room. "We found another heavily injured man on the stairs. I had him put in the cells, but if he was with you, then–"

"No. He belongs there. Whatever you do, don't let that man leave. I'll deal with him myself later, when time permits." Selena paused a moment, and noticed the green vial lying on the ground near her feet, probably having rolled about during the celestial's mayhem. She carefully took the container and placed it away in a pocket on her robe.

"Priestess, what in the world is going on in this city today? It's as if the very element of chaos has been awakened and unleashed upon Baldur's Gate."

Selena could only shake her head in reply as the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared, leaving the room in darkness. "I don't know, but I will certainly let go of the matter. Come with me, we have a long night ahead of us."

(6:16)

In a place far to the north of Baldur's Gate, a man stood in the centre of a dimly lit cavern, deep underground. He tugged on the side of the red scale armour over his body, cursing at the unpleasant itching that accompanied this form.

Standing before the armoured man were three full-length, oval mirror stands, each holding a portal tall enough that even Pryus himself could easily step through in his current form. The mirror portal on his right was currently inactive, showing a normal reflection of the red lord's cavern.

In the other mirror panes stood two humanoid figures with whom Pryus was familiar.

"Have the Sigils been recovered yet?" demanded the figure in the centre mirror.

"They have," growled Pryus, "Just be certain that _your_ respective tasks are as successful as mine."

"Successful?" shouted a male voice from the left, "We just learned that your underling, the crime lord, was planning to double-cross you. The Sigils might have been lost, had HE not intervened against Cordas. You are a fool to rely on your underlings. _Human_ underlings, especially."

"And _you_ are fools for choosing to personally involve yourselves in your own tasks. Not only do you place yourselves at risk, you put us all in danger of being discovered by prying eyes." Pryus snorted loud enough to create an echo. "Bah, how far along are you in your parts of our quest?"

"The shipment will arrive soon enough," said the man on the left.

"And I am currently pursuing the Behemoth's Heart," added the centre figure. "It is a simple matter, now that we know where it is being developed. Apprehending the wielder of the heart may be more difficult for me, especially with night fallen in Baldur's Gate."

"No matter," Pryus muttered, "We will be done soon enough." He glanced between the pair. "We four have had to endure much over the years... particularly with the setbacks that Verskul incurred. But once we achieve our mutual goal, everything will change."

He waved his arm across horizontally, and the portals faded, quickly replaced by ordinary reflective panes. Pryus scratched at his neck, and resumed pacing his cavern. His part in the plan was already finished. Now all that remained was a measure of patience.

(6:21)

"And you say the Prelate absolutely believed he was seeing the Bloodletter?" Selena asked as she rummaged through her closet.

"Yes, priestess," said Charell, "I fear that he may be growing over-excited with everything that has happened today. He _is_ becoming rather... uh, 'imaginative'."

_In other words, the Prelate may be delusional_, thought Selena. Perfect. An irrational elderly man running things at the temple would certainly make her task of pursuing the false celestial all the more difficult. Then again, the Prelate seemed stable earlier in the day. Perhaps she could convince him to hear her out, at the least.

The elf removed a simple wooden jewellery box from the bottom of the closet and brought it over to her desk.

Charell watched as Selena pushed the ewer aside. "Priestess, I should mention that Saudere still believes that you're responsible for the golden insects that came from those dreadful flowers. He also found some sort of correspondence with Caden the Bloodletter." She pointed to the empty envelope that still lay upon the table. "I know that you must have received those flowers from someone... unaffiliated with our Order, but I want to hear your side of things first."

Selena was about to open the wooden box, but stopped when she heard Charell's words. The priestess stared at the broken seal on the envelope and shook her head. "It's not from the Bloodletter. I don't even know much about the Battle of Caden's Hill beyond the bare material they have us teach the acolytes."

Shaking her head, the elf lightly touched her brow. "You've heard about that local chapter of the Shadow Thieves operating in the market district. Well, all of this," she waved a hand around the chamber, even though the flowers were already removed, "It was done by their branch leader, a rogue I met a few years ago. He passes me useful information on criminal activity in the city every now and then... Oh, don't give me that look, Charell. Even I understand the importance of good intelligence."

"So... not the Bloodletter, then?"

"Certainly not. He may be a little eccentric at times, but I respected him. I thought he was as non-violent as a criminal could possibly be."

Charell leaned in, over the table. "I hear past tense there."

Sighing softly, the elf felt her lips turn into a frown. Cerdan betrayed her trust, just as Cyrael did. She was staring to wonder if her life was better before the Verskul incident, when she only had to depend on her fellow faithful. It was certainly easier.

"I believed I might have been able to trust him. Maybe even..." The priestess shook her head suddenly. "It isn't important. For now, we need to focus on this matter with Cyrael and the Bloodletter."

The young cleric cleared her throat. "I always did find it strange, priestess, that we've all been told that Caden's Hill was such an important example of our divine cause. But from what I gather, no one wants to say exactly _who_ we were actually fighting, beyond the fact that they were 'heretics, preying on innocent townsfolk'."

"Yes, but we know the outcome well enough; Caden the Bloodletter oversaw the slaughter of thousands, including men, women, and children on both sides of the conflict. He is a vile war criminal, the absolute worst that the Realms have to offer, and that's all I need to know."

The elf flipped open the wooden lid and began to remove several small pieces of plain-looking jewellery. She laid a few featureless copper rings on the table, as well as a simple silver bracelet.

"These were gifts from someone I once knew." She made a quick gesture in the air with her hands and whispered a few syllables under her breath. A magical symbol appeared very briefly in the air, then vanished. Looking back down at the baubles, the priestess could now see a faint, coloured aura around each object.

Selena picked out one of the rings and passed it to Charell. "Wear this for now. Its magic will let me form a telepathic conversation with you, but it will only work for a single use."

The cleric nodded and slipped it on. "You expect to be away from the tower again?"

"Right after I've spoken with the High Prelate," she said, pocketing the other two rings and slipping the bracelet on her wrist. _I just hope I can persuade him to listen to reason._

With Cyrael and the Bloodletter still at large in the city, there was little need for her to remain at the temple. The only problem now was finding a lead.

(6:28)

Saudere rapped his knuckles against the table as he waited for the cleric to complete the divination on a handful of the golden beads taken from the priestess' chamber. These particular beads hadn't fully hatched, keeping the tiny insects imprisoned in their husks. So far, they only knew that someone was spying on the movements of Tyr's faithful... but whoever created these things clearly hadn't realized that the magical essence could be divined and followed back to its source.

The door to the chapel creaked open, and Saudere turned to see one of his Royal Horsemen approach.

"Sir," began the knight, removing his helm and bowing to the Prelate. "Our people are reporting back from the sweep of the eastern districts. We made several arrests, but they appear to be mostly minor offenders; cutpurses, vagabonds, the like."

"Hmm. Unfortunate. What about Sir Rennemar? I understand he stayed a bit longer for some reason."

"That's what a few of the town guards have said." The paladin rubbed his neck. "No word from Rennemar since then, however."

Saudere frowned and rubbed his chin. Perhaps the lead knight found something worth a more detailed investigation. "Very well, we'll await further news. Dismissed."

The knight hesitated before leaving. "There is something else, sir. I was downstairs in the basement, checking the prison cells in case Rennemar decided to bring someone in. I ran into one of the temple guards who was locking away an intruder; someone who was found on the upper floors of the tower."

Taking a slow breath, the Royal Horseman met the Prelate's gaze. "I... think you should come down and take a look at him yourself, sir." The knight glanced over at the diviner, then lowered his voice to the Prelate. "The intruder is demanding to speak to no one other than Priestess Shademoor; he claims that he came to the tower with her in the past hour."

Saudere let go of his chin and gave the knight his full attention. "You mean the priestess has already returned! Find her and have her brought to me immediately!"

"At once, sir. But what of the prisoner? I _truly_ think you should go see him first."

Sighing aloud, Saudere crossed his arms. "Ugh, very well. Lead on, but this prisoner had best be worth my time. At this rate, the only thing that could possibly interest me is if the prisoner was the Bloodletter himself."

(6:34)

Flipping a single gold coin between his fingers, Lord Pryus couldn't help but sneer in disgust at the sheer scrawniness of these appendages. He tossed the coin across the room and watched as it landed, disappearing in the sea of identical coins that covered most of the cavern floor.

In the corner of his eye, Pryus noticed movement coming from one of the three mirrors by the wall of the cave. "Do you have something constructive to say, or are you simply here to waste both our time?" He moved closer and faced the mirror. "You have yet to conclude your portion of the quest."

The man that appeared in the right-most mirror scoffed, "There is little to worry about, the cargo will make landfall soon enough. By my estimates, it will reach the pier by midnight at the latest."

"See that it does. Yours is the most volatile of the artifacts; if some foolhardy mage decides to cast even the most simple of spells in its vicinity..."

"You don't need to repeat what was already said. The Source is being transported under the most secure conditions, I assure you." The man paused to tug on the sleeve of his garments. "Let us move onto other matters. _He_ has informed me that we can expect to be ready to begin at sometime during the night. Does it not make you _itch_ with anticipation?" The fool gave a wide grin.

Pryus scratched at his neck and chin, grumbling at the mockery. "Be silent." He waved an arm, dismissing the man's image from the mirror.

Letting the frown linger on his face, Pryus resumed his waiting and glanced down at the two black amulets that were hanging around his neck. While the Sigils appeared to be made of black wood, he knew that they contained enough magical energy to rival even the most empowered wizards in the western realms.

And to think that this magic was nearly destroyed three years ago. That idiot Verskul had the gall to overstep his bounds, but ended up falling to some meagre human.

"Overexposure," Pryus muttered aloud. The red lord was wise enough to keep from making the same mistake. He kept himself well away from the risk zones, and executed his portion of the plan only through indirect contacts.

The final hour was approaching fast, and Pryus knew that it would only be a short wait until all the pieces were in play.

(6:38)

"I should remind you, he is utterly convinced that you're in league with the Bloodletter," said the cleric as they walked toward Saudere's chamber.

Selena sighed. "Thank you, Charell, but I'm sure this misunderstanding can be rectified. His enmity toward me likely stems from the matter with the late Sir Treysen, the younger."

"Ah, yes. That would explain it. Difficult to believe that a knight from such a prestigious lineage could fall to corruption so easily."

_And as usual_, Selena thought, _it all traces back to Caden's Hill_. One Adar Treysen was the commander of the Order of Tyr's army during throughout the war, but Selena had difficulty recalling more than that.

"The more I think about it, the more I wonder why we've never learned much about Caden the Bloodletter beyond the bare details of his evil."

Charell shrugged. "I imagine you'd know more about it than I, seeing as how the war happened long before I was born. But it's like you said, all that matters is that Caden the Bloodletter was a truly evil murderer. Anyone who would engage in such wholesale slaughter can be nothing but a blackheart."

"Of course," Selena murmured as they continued down the hallway. The basic facts were common knowledge; fifty years ago, at the height of the war against the army of heretics, the vile warlord unveiled some sort of magical weapon. It devastated the forces on both sides, but the surviving knights of Tyr were able to subdue the villain and emerge victorious.

Less than a year after the horrible event, several nations throughout the Realms were spurned to agree to the Treaty of Caden's Hill, which forbade the use of similar magical weapons based on such wide-scale destructive energy.

But that was mostly the extent of what she knew. For some reason, very few people were ever made aware of much further concerning Battle of Caden's Hill or even the war in general. Perhaps Saudere might be willing to illuminate the matter, if she could get him to see reason.

They reached the Prelate's door, and the elf knocked sharply three times. They waited for several moments, but received no answer.

"Wait, the Prelate's escort isn't here," Charell said, looking about. "Maybe he is still seeing our diviner about the golden insects."

A voice called out from the corridor behind them. "Priestess Shademoor!"

They turned to see one of the Prelate's Royal Horsemen advancing from the stairs. He approached the pair and seized the red-haired elf by the arm. "Prelate Saudere demands your presence, and _only_ your presence, just outside the prison cells in the tower basement."

Charell glanced at the priestess with a furrowed brow, but Selena gave a short nod and dismissed the cleric. "Very well, sir," said the elf, pulling her arm away from his grasp. "Perhaps it is time I received some answers."

(6:43)

"Who were you speaking to just a few minutes ago?"

The question caught the man in his tracks. He quickly turned and shut the door to his study, locking it behind him.

"I heard you saying something in your study. This has been going on for weeks! What are you hiding in there?" asked the woman.

"Nothing. I'm meeting with members of the Flaming Fist tomorrow, and I was just reciting a speech before the mirror," he replied. The man turned and rested a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Really, Fara, you ask too many questions."

She made a loud 'tsk' noise and smacked his hand away. "Great gods, you've been locking yourself in there ever since you got that ugly mirror! I swear, you weren't like this when we were first married. Pah, you weren't even like this more than a few months ago. I don't know why I put up with you."

He folded his arms and fixed her with a glare. "You 'put up' with me because you enjoy all the amenities that accompany my position in this city. Don't ever forget that it can all go away if you keep this up."

"Ugh, you're so insolent!" Fara cried, tossing her hands up in the air as she stalked out of the room. "Far be it from anyone to question the mighty Duke Ryloch, least of all his own wife!" She added, sarcasm dripping off every syllable.

Ryloch waited as she disappeared from view, then glanced back at his study door. Did she overhear his entire conversation with Lord Pryus? What's more, had she been listening in ever since they started their plans for the Sword Coast?

The Duke rubbed the beard on his chin. No, she probably couldn't make out anything clearly, or she would have gone straight to the authorities. Still, she was aware that something odd was transpiring, and that seed of suspicion might sprout into further discord in the long run. Straightening out his fine robe, he made a mental note that they would soon have to do something about the woman.

(6:49)

"How long have you been in correspondence with Caden the Bloodletter!" Saudere fired the question instantly, as soon as Selena came within sight from the stairwell.

The elf kept her expression as stoic as possible. Even though Saudere was wrong, he still outranked her, and proper duty and protocol still presided over all. "Respectfully, High Prelate, you are mistaken. I tell you truthfully that I am not, nor have I ever been, in contact with that war criminal."

"Oh? Let me illustrate things: you received a letter earlier today telling you to deliver money - temple funds, no less - to the Bloodletter."

"That wasn't the Bloodletter, it was my contact in the local Shadow Thieves."

"You smuggled a swarm of magical insects into the tower to spy on us."

"I didn't know what they were at the time."

Saudere lowered his head, glowering at the elf as he delivered the killing blow. "And you are directly responsible for the death of Sir Treysen, one of the finest men I ever trained."

At this, Selena hesitated. The Prelate spoke as if she had made light choice, when in fact it anything but. Closing her eyes, the priestess lowered her head slightly. Treysen was a villain; in her mind there was absolutely no doubt of that. And she had been acting in self-defense when Treysen plummeted from Greyhelm Tower, back on that fateful day.

But none of that made it any easier to swallow the fact that she _was_ responsible for the man's death. For most of her life, she considered killing to be the cardinal sin. It made her feel... corrupted, despite what others believed. The Prelate, however, was no doubt firm in his belief that _she_ was the false one.

As she considered this, Saudere didn't relent and went on, "And now you have defiled these holy grounds by leading the Bloodletter himself into our fold to carry out whatever nefarious ends he seeks to inflict upon us!"

"I... what?"

Saudere pointed down the corridor to the cell at the very end of the temple's prison. "One of your knights encountered Caden the Bloodletter upstairs, in the upper areas of the tower. The fiend has admitted that he gained entry to the tower through _you_."

_Oh no… Dace_, thought the priestess, _I should have placed him under arrest as soon as we set foot inside_. She looked away as the thought overtook her.

"Moreover," continued the Prelate, "he is refusing to speak further to anyone other than you. You have much to answer for, priestess."

Selena held her eyes forward and took a deep breath. "Sir, I accept full responsibility for allowing him into the tower, but I did _not_ clearly know that he was the Bloodletter, and I will say again that I am _not_ a traitor to our cause. The Church is everything to me, sir; I live and breathe under the sign of justice, and I would die before forsaking what is right."

"Fine words, but they are devoid of merit." The Prelate tilted his head, staring at her out of the corner of his eye as he moved past. "Very well, I will accept for now that your actions were of incompetence rather than malice, but you can be assured that my soldiers and I will be observing you closely. There remains an air of falsehood about you, and I'll not abide any more errant acts."

"You have nothing to worry about, sir."

"Highly doubtful." He pointed toward the end of the cellblock and extended his other hand, dangling a key from his fingers. "If you wish to prove your good faith, then heed me; speak with the Bloodletter and elicit a confession from the fiend. I will consider relenting my current opinion of you."

"Certainly." The elf took the key and moved briskly down the corridor toward the cell. If Dace truly was the Bloodletter, then she'd have no qualms about seeing him rightly sent to prison. After all, the priestess had done it once before, she could do it again. Gods knew the blackheart must deserve it.

She stopped at the heavy steel door and unlocked it. Taking a moment to gather her poise and state of mind, the elf opened the cell and stepped inside to face a familiar man shackled at the back of the dark chamber.

The priestess froze in her steps when she saw the man. At that moment, it all clicked into place. "Oh no, Charell was right... Saudere _is_ becoming delusional," she whispered to herself. The man before her clearly was not the Bloodletter.

"Well, you certainly took your time getting down here!" Cerdan said, shaking the chained manacles attached to his wrists. "I can't even scratch my nose without making a racket."

_If Saudere mistook Cerdan's face for the Bloodletter's, then perhaps the Prelate's mind isn't as stable as it should be for a man in his position_, the priestess thought. _They must have caught Cerdan while he was making his own way to the vault earlier_.

Selena didn't look forward to informing Saudere of this error. It definitely wasn't going to go over well for his opinion of her.

"You shouldn't be here," said the priestess, "why haven't you said anything in your defense?"

"I first wanted to learn what happened. Did we save the Sigils?"

"Norris and Cordas are dead," she replied through her teeth. Selena held the bridge of her nose, shaking her head as she went over the details. "Cyrael turned on us and made off with the twin amulets. Right now I'm planning to organize a search of the city, but first I need to deal with this matter between you and the High Prelate of Tyr. He's shortly down the hall outside, and he wants you charged for an atrocity you didn't even commit."

"I thought _you_ wanted me charged over our little spat back at Cordas' place."

Selena sent a glare at him. "That will come in due time. You have a more immediate concern right now, and an erroneous one at that. I'll do what I can to convince them you're not who they think you are, but you have to tell them the truth about who you are."

Arching an eyebrow, Cerdan gave a sharp laugh and lowered his head, looking at the ground as a weak smile crossed his face. "And what truth would that be? That I'm a guildmaster of the largest Shadow Thief branch in the city? Or that I'm sweet on one of their priestesses? Selena–"

"Stop it, this is no time for your stupid flippancy!" Selena snapped, thrusting a finger at him. "Don't you understand what's happening here? He thinks you're Caden the Bloodletter!"

Cerdan sighed and slowly looked up to meet her eyes. For once, all mirth had left the rogue's expression. "Selena... that's because I _am_ Caden the Bloodletter."

**(7:00 PM)**


	15. War Crimes

**War Crimes**

**(7:00 PM)**

It was fortunate that there was no draft in the cell, for that would have been enough to completely topple Selena over. With that final, damning statement from Cerdan's own lips, everything exploded in Selena's mind.

"I... but, what..."

"I'm sorry you had to find out about it like this," the rogue replied, shaking his head slightly. "I would have told you some day."

Selena's thoughts were still like vapour. "How... but - how can _you_ possibly be the Bloodletter!"

"Another place, another life..." was all that he muttered in response as he looked down at the floor.

"So all the death that was wrought at Caden's Hill..." her eyes were locked on the thief in disbelief, and her hands slowly formed into fists. "It was all you? You were responsible!"

"I'm 'responsible' for a lot of things."

"Answer me!" She came forward and seized him by the shoulder, forcing his head up to stare at her. "You killed my people?"

"I've killed lots of people."

"Why didn't you ever tell me this before?"

"Because you once said you didn't want me to tell you about the crimes I've committed in the past."

"But you told me just now!"

"And don't you feel like a fool for asking me to?"

She shoved him away and took a large step back. "No, don't you _dare_ try to brush this off. This goes well beyond everything else that's happened. Your role in _one_ death was bad enough, but now I learn that you're a mass murderer!"

"It's not so simple as that." Cerdan tried to keep their gazes matched, but the priestess broke off and quickly turned away from him.

"Believe it or not, there was a time when I respected you. Maybe you were a little shameless and arrogant, I would expect no less from a thief. But deep down, I thought you had a good heart... someone I might trust some day." She took a few more steps away from him and opened the cell door. "But after everything that I've witnessed today, I see now that I was completely wrong about you.

"Goodbye... Caden." It felt difficult to address him by that name, and she had to force the words out. "Perhaps I'll see you again before they lock you away in Lancam's Isle for the rest of your life." As she stepped out of the room, the priestess heard him call after her.

"Selena," he said loudly, though not in an overly harsh tone, "Do you find it odd that _you_ are the priestess, yet I'm the only one who holds _faith_ in you?"

Still seething, she was in no mood to hear any more forked words, and quickly slammed the door closed, sealing the rogue away in near-total darkness. The elf moved briskly, putting distance between herself and Caden's cell as quickly as she could.

She shoved the key back into the Prelate's hands as she passed. "It's true. It is Caden the Bloodletter... do to him whatever justice requires. He... he deserves no less."

Without bothering to wait for a reply, Selena continued past and made a beeline for the stairs. Everyone was betraying her trust today... Selena shut her eyes and exhaled as she ascended to the level above. She needed to talk to someone now more than ever.

(7:05)

Cerdan didn't have to wait long for the door to open again. This time, it was the elderly human in immaculately clean attire that faced him. The markings on his seemingly stiff robes identified him as the Prelate of Tyr. Without a word, the Prelate held up a warhammer and began smacking it against his palm.

Both men stared at each other in silence for a long period, stewing in their mutual enmity.

"As I said before, my name is Saudere, and I served under Adar Treysen at Caden's Hill." Saudere broke the ice first, speaking in a low, restrained tone. "You know why you are here."

"Yes, of course. It's because you're a vindictive, self-serving bigot who can't admit when he's wrong." Cerdan was chained to the wall, the Prelate was armed with a warhammer. Angering the old man was clearly the wisest of actions.

"You know who caused the slaughter at Caden's Hill."

"I did." Cerdan raised his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. "I also know _how_ it happened. Aren't you afraid that I'll tell others?"

"You've had fifty years to tell people, yet you never did. As of right now, you are just another loose end." Saudere took a step closer and raised his arm, letting the warhammer rest atop his shoulders. "Justice will see things right."

"You mean _your_ justice."

"Yes, _my_ justice. The justice of _humanity_, the righteousness of Tyr. I can see that look in your eyes. You think that you're right and I'm in the wrong, don't you?"

Cerdan rattled his chains around by waving his arms. "I'm guilty, I've come to accept that. But don't think that means I'll let you cheerfully dance all over my grave. I still know the truth about Adar Treysen's plans for the elven people. With a single statement, I could-"

Bringing the warhammer forward, the High Prelate placed the head of the weapon against the underside of Cerdan's chin, pushing the elf's head up. "No doubt you could. Tell me something... why didn't you? You had ample opportunity a few minutes ago when you held the priestess' undivided attention. A fellow elf, no less."

Speaking through clenched teeth, Cerdan kept his head still. "Selena's belief in justice and the Church is her life. If she knew, it would shatter her convictions... I couldn't do that to her. Even I can understand the importance of personal faith."

"How touching. But she is not the only one with faith. I held strong faith that you would be brought forward to answer for your crimes. Even as you taunted my people earlier today with your cowardly attacks and mocking messages, I kept solid in the belief that you would soon be brought low." Saudere suddenly drew his arm back and thrust the stone head of his hammer forward, slamming it against the elf in the gut. "And now my devotion is rewarded."

Cerdan wheezed and pitched forward, hanging off the chains on the wall.

"Arrangements are already being made for your punishment," Saudere went on, placing the hammer back over his shoulder and moving back toward the door. "Enjoy your last few hours, elf, for you shall bear your last breath when you are hanged at dawn."

(7:09)

She couldn't help but wonder how the ranger would have reacted to this. After all, Norris made it quite clear that he harboured no love for religious ceremony or the followers of Tyr. Regardless, Selena continued to whisper her prayer beside the ranger and waved her holy symbol over the white shroud covering his form.

It didn't escape Selena's notice that in the end, he was able to touch his unicorn pendant without pain. Did that mean his fallen soul had been redeemed in Mielikki's eyes? Or was the sensation of pain simply dulled by Cyrael's prior spell on the ranger? Whatever the case, Selena felt it was her duty to give proper respect to the man who sought to change himself, even if he'd been rather uncouth to her in the beginning.

The elf completed her blessing upon the dead ranger, and placed her holy symbol of Tyr back around her neck. "I'm sorry that this happened," she said, staring down at the shroud. "You know, Cerd- I mean, Caden once said that I'm too judgmental, never trusting. Considering what he was hiding, that shows just how deceptive and hypocritical a man he is."

She paused a moment before continuing. "My trust in that… false celestial is what caused your death. If I had thought about it more clearly, questioned his convenient appearance earlier today, maybe…"

The woman shook her head and let out a low sigh. Here she was talking to a corpse. It felt both shameful and silly at the same time, but the elf felt that there was no one else she could talk to at a time like this. Maybe Charell, but the cleric didn't truly understand the trials that they had experienced since the start of this whole mess.

"But no, I can't deny the truth… as much as Cyrael's betrayal pains me, as serious as his crimes may be, I can't stop thinking about this new betrayal with Caden. I don't know what feels worse; the thought that he could kill thousands of people in a single, bloody battle, or the fact that he never once confessed the truth to me after all we've been through together."

Selena ran a finger over her brow and brushed aside a loose strand of red hair. "Well, no matter," she said aloud, straightening her posture, "He'll receive his just punishment in due time. I know Tyr will reveal the righteous path."

Norris didn't offer any reply or reassurance, of course, and the elf couldn't shake the slight waver of doubt from her voice.

A knock on the morgue door drew the woman's attention. A moment later, Charell poked her head inside and then stepped in. "Oh, here you are, priestess. Er, I'm not disturbing anything, am I? I heard you speaking…"

"No, no. I think I'm done here." Selena gave a short, respectful nod to the ranger's body before joining Charell. The elf glanced at the table next to the door, eyeing all the laid out belongings that were recovered from the corpses.

"Prelate Saudere wants to speak with you again, concerning the Bloodletter."

"Ah." Selena closed her eyes briefly. "I suppose he intends to condemn me again for my association with that criminal."

"Actually, he wants to see you about making arrangements for the punishment tomorrow."

The priestess turned her full attention on Charell. "What punishment? Caden hasn't even gone to trial yet."

"Well, apparently it's within the Prelate's power to pass immediate judgment , if the accused is the an escaped war criminal. Caden is to be executed, publicly hanged at sunrise tomorrow morning, just outside the tower gates."

The elf's eyes went wide and she fixed the cleric with an incredulous look. "What! How can he possibly justify something like that?"

"Uh, that's probably why you should go talk to him right now."

A public execution? Selena lightly rubbed the front of her neck. "That… that changes things." Every fibre of her being instinctively began to shout against this. Even after all that happened, she couldn't accept that more death was the right solution here.

Selena absently dismissed the cleric, then tapped a finger on the table, pausing a moment to consider the matter. To kill a man, even one responsible for the deaths of so many… it felt wrong to her. A cardinal sin. But would it be an even greater sin to let such a man escape the fate that he wrought in others?

The priestess suddenly realized that her hands were gripping the table hard enough that the knuckles had turned white. "Damn you, Cerda- Caden. This is all your fault."

Her better sense, her sense of duty, was telling her to let the matter go and let justice play its part. But there was that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that was telling her not to ignore this travesty. Execution. Even the word itself felt… inhumane, for lack of a better word. Blood for blood… that was the way of barbarians. As much as Caden deserved punishment for what he did, she couldn't abide by the Prelate's decision.

True, Saudere was already distrustful of her, but she couldn't stay silent on a matter like this. Not again. This wasn't the first time she had faced such a dilemma. And she certainly didn't want things to turn out the same way as they had once before.

"It's never as simple as I want it to be," she murmured as she passed through the door, "But there has to be a better way…"

(7:20)

"Yes, my lord, we've received an updated report from Athkatla. They're growing concerned over the increasing number of troops stationed on our southern borders. The other Dukes believe a diplomatic envoy should be sent within the next month."

Ryloch nodded along as the aide followed him back to his chambers in the Ducal Palace. "The other Dukes are at fault for this nonsense," he grumbled, "All these people can think about is the raw consolidation of power. Horrible."

When they approached the chambers, the aide hurried a few steps ahead and held the door open for the Duke, bowing his head as Ryloch passed through. As soon as the political leader set foot inside, his wife emerged from his private study, clutching a letter in her hands.

"What is the meaning of this?" Fara demanded, waving the sheet in front of the Duke's face.

Ryloch grit his teeth. If she had read the letter, then she knew about Pryus and their plans for the Wild Source. "It is nothing of consequence, wife. Simply a correspondence with a Waterdhavian mage who specializes in the study of rare magical artifacts."

Fara continued to glare at the Duke, then gestured toward the aide. "You there, leave us." She waited for the door to close before continuing. "It sounds to me like you've been leaking our city's most guarded secrets to foreigners. If Waterdeep were to learn of the Wild Source, it could lead to war."

Of course. He already knew it was a necessary risk. That's why he was so opposed to having the city's armies lined up in the _south_. "You are misinterpreting the words, I have no intention of–"

"We'll see about that. The other Dukes are returning to the palace tomorrow, and you can be certain they'll want to know about what you've been doing." With that said, she stepped past the Duke and stormed out into the hallway, brushing past the aide who was still waiting just beyond the door.

Scratching his chin, Ryloch met his aide's gaze. "This will pose a problem; it seems we'll have to deal with her sooner than I anticipated. Step up our plans the make the arrangements… I think you need a new look."

(7:23)

Cerdan sighed as he stood waiting in near-darkness. A single day, and everything was starting to fall apart. Selena was under the impression that he was a devil in elven skin, Saudere wanted his neck in a rope, and Tomar was likely rearranging the furniture in his office at this very moment.

He glanced up toward the window at the upper corner of the room, which provided the sole shaft of light in the cell. Come to think of it, he still didn't know the reason behind the assassination attempt on his guild lieutenant, Seffron. All clues pointed toward Cordas' gang as the responsible party for the guild war and the temple incursions. At first it seemed like a simple attempt to drive the knights into conflict with the thieves, but with all this sudden attention on 'Caden the Bloodletter', Cerdan began to wonder if there was a grander purpose behind all this.

"You do not have the appearance of a warlord. I must admit, it surprised me to learn that _you_ of all people were of that element."

Cerdan squinted up at the window and saw a set of eyes and a nose peering in from outside. Dace's head seemed to be turned sideways, apparently lying on the ground so he could see in the window.

"Do you mind? You're blocking my light," Cerdan said. "How did you get out there? I assumed you'd been arrested."

Dace snorted. "The faithmongers left me unbound in a cell with a simple lock, and I am fully capable of evading their patrols unnoticed. Why have _you_ not escaped?"

The elf shook his chains loudly. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not rogue enough to get through magically warded manacles."

"Then remove the chains from their wall joints and carry them with out," Dace said with a tad of irritation.

"Of course! Then I can make these heavy things rattle and jangle with every step until they catch me again. To be honest, I'm surprised they didn't put _you_ in chains. Maybe they think you're not as dangerous."

"More fools, them. If you lack the ability to free yourself, then clearly this is a fate you deserve. I have my own ends to pursue." With that, the mercenary raised his head and disappeared from sight.

"Hmph. Pleasant fellow," Cerdan sighed as he was alone in the dark once more, with only his thoughts for company.

(7:28)

"So you're finally here," remarked the Prelate before taking a sip of his broth. He didn't even look up from his meal as Selena stood before the desk in his quarters. He pushed some red papers aside and focused on eating his bowl of soup.

The elf took a slow breath before speaking. "Sir, I wish to discuss with you the matter concerning the Bloodletter."

"Yes, indeed. I need your staff to begin construction of a gallows platform. It will have to be done quickly overnight, as I want the Bloodletter on a noose by daybreak tomorrow. And he must be visible enough for all the public to see."

"But sir, there has been no trial, no proper consideration of judgment…"

Saudere went still for a moment, then set his spoon down and looked up at the priestess. "As High Prelate, I am within my rights to pass my own judgment upon the fiend. Are you not familiar with our laws? When a war criminal such as he is captured, it is in the ranking officer's power to place immediate punishment on the offender."

"Ahem. Sir, that law only applies during times of war."

"This _is_ a time of war. It is the forces of righteousness against evil, and I am the one who will finally bring a close to this man's crimes. Do you not understand that?" He fixed her with an accusing eye. "Or perhaps you harbour sympathies to the enemy… I imagine _your_ kind has a tendency to conspire together."

Bristling at the comment, Selena felt the edge of her lip twitch, but she stayed focus on the issue. "He deserves a trial, even after all that he has done in the past. Tyr's edicts clearly state that fair and equal justice is for every man and woman, regardless of how good or evil they may _appear_ at face."

"Don't patronize me, priestess. I know Tyr's edicts perfectly well. But you forget that Tyr is a _human_ god. The Bloodletter is not a human subject, does not pay fealty to Tyr, and comes from an outland tribe. As such, I believe his kind is not, and was never intended to be, included under Tyr's law, and can therefore claim none of the rights and privileges that keep secure the citizens of the more civilized cultures."

Saudere spoke the words in a controlled tone, clearly portraying his belief in every word that he said. "As an elf, the Bloodletter is afforded no personal rights that a faithful of Tyr is bound to respect, and is subject to my judgment alone. Quite frankly, he is a being of an inferior order, and is altogether unfit to even associate with a system meant for those who rightly follow Tyr." He tossed an unwavering stare at the priestess, obviously daring her to lose her temper.

Keeping her thoughts and feelings of irritation under control, she swallowed and felt a lump forming in her throat again. "Sir, I still feel I must protest against this course. While I fully acknowledge your authority in this matter, it still goes beyond the system of law to condemn a man to death without a complete and proper trial."

"I have already told you not lecture me on the nature of law, priestess. If this is truly how you feel, then perhaps _you_ would care to spend the night in the dungeon as well? I'm sure the rats would be most stirred by your protestations." The Prelate took a final sip of his soup and dropped the spoon into the bowl. "He will be publicly hanged in the commons at sunrise; an appropriately ignoble punishment for an ignoble man."

"Sir, answering death with death like this is vengeance, not justice."

The Prelate wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it down on the desk. "My decision is final, priestess. If you do not cease this impudence, then perhaps we should hold a trial for _you_. Aiding and abetting a fugitive is a serious crime." He let the threat hang in the air, then stood from the table and moved toward the door. "All this talk leaves my mouth with a bitter aftertaste. Have an acolyte clear the dish from my desk while I'm gone." With that said, Saudere stepped outside, leaving the elf alone in the room.

Letting out a long breath, Selena rubbed her temples and sat down in the Prelate's chair, taking a moment to centre herself. So it was final. Caden was fixed to be hanged in a matter of hours. At the same time, Cyrael, possibly the more dangerous murderer, was still running loose.

The aroma from the Prelate's soup triggered a growl from the priestess' stomach, a reminder that she hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Pausing for a moment, the elf's eyes fell on a small pile of red papers that the Prelate had apparently been reading alongside his meal. What caught her attention was the title written at the top of the sheet, "Caden's Hill – The Behemoth".

Glancing up at the door, the elf made sure that there was no one nearby, then leaned forward and looked over the documents. The sheets had a rough, grainy texture, and appeared to be covered in some sort of powder that was coming off on the desk.

Selena read the visible portion of the document to herself: _His strategy proved only to be a partial success. The Heart was activated, but in the hands of the opposing leader from the local elvish militia, one Caden the Bloodletter. This led to the devastation of both sides in the conflict, and has in turn led to severe outcry from the major powers throughout Faerun. _

As such, all work on the artifact and similar projects must cease immediately. So long as the origins of the Heart are not revealed, there will be no backlash or connection to our cause. The Blood letter, however, is a loose end. Take whatever actions are necessary to find him and keep him revealing the truth behind the Behemoth. Further, we deem it necessary…

Selena picked up the sheet to continue reading the other side, but as soon as her fingers made contact the edges of the document suddenly ignited, and the parchment began to burn inward. Shrieking out loud, the priestess instinctively threw the document down, and blew on her fingers.

When the paper touched the desk, all the other red sheets instantly caught fire as well, and the flames began to rapidly consume the powdery documents. The priestess grabbed the bowl of soup and quickly splashed some of the liquid over the papers, dousing the flames, but soaking what was left.

She coughed as the smoke stung at her nostrils and took a step back, waving a hand to clear the air. The pile of red papers was now a series of wet, blackened clumps. Swallowing the new lump in her throat, she quickly left the room. She could have an acolyte remove the mess, but the Prelate was clearly going to lambaste her for this.

Documents designed to magically destroy themselves… that was not standard procedure among followers of Tyr. And what was this 'Behemoth' the paper mentioned? The seeds of doubt were growing rapidly in her mind, and Selena could plainly see that there was something more about the Battle of Caden's Hill than met the eye.

As she walked through the halls of the tower, the elf knew she needed to get answers on this whole shrouded mess. Something about the war was being kept from public knowledge, and as much as Selena didn't want to admit it, there was only one person in the tower who might be able to reveal the truth to her.

(7:42)

Charell caught the High Prelate by the arm as he passed in the corridor just outside one of the prayer rooms. "Sir, there's been an escape from the prison cells."

"What!" Saudere felt his stomach tighten in a knot. "You mean the Bloodletter is loose?"

"No, no, no. Not him, one of the other prisoners. The middle-aged man in black that we found unconscious up near the vault."

"Oh." The mental pressure dissipated and he regained his composure. "I care not, unless it means your cells are defective."

A pensive look crossed the young woman's face. "Well, the Bloodletter is magically bound, as per your request, so _he _won't be escaping our premises."

She paused a moment and called to one of the acolytes coming out of the prayer room. "Villet!" Charell shouted, gesturing for the boy to come close. "Go down to the prison level and clean out the fifth cell on the right. The prisoner made a mess of the straw mattress in there. Just to spite us, no doubt."

Villet mumbled something under his breath in response and went to the stairs down.

Turning back to Saudere, the cleric continued, "I'm more concerned about the mercenary who escaped. Apparently, he incapacitated the paladin on duty and stole a few weapons on his way out. That's the second time something like this has happened today. With your permission, I'd like to have some of your Royal Horsemen assigned to patrolling the temple grounds until we get reinforcements to replace the men and women lost in the attacks earlier today."

"Very well, do what you will," Saudere replied, waving her off. "Just be certain the Bloodletter remains solidly bound. So long as he is brought to justice, I care not what you do."

(7:47)

"What kind of upper-class temple is crazy enough to need an underground prison, anyway?" muttered Villet as he surveyed the inside of the cell. As Charell said, the straw bed had been torn up and strewn about the room. "Boring, boring, boring…"

Still grumbling under his breath, the boy was about to start sweeping the straw together, but stopped when he heard a metal clanking sound from further down the hall. Leaning out the door, Villet saw Priestess Shademoor opening the cell at the very end of the prison area.

Why would she be visiting a prisoner without an armed guard? Curiosity piqued, Villet waited for the red-haired elf to pass inside, and then rushed over to place his ear up against the steel door. Keeping quiet, Villet listened intently, hoping to learn what the overbearing priestess was up to.

(7:48)

"Hey, that was fast. How long has it been now? Forty, fifty minutes?" Cerdan peered at Selena, discerning her form through the scant light in the room. "Or maybe you're here to do some more fist shaking at me."

"The High Prelate wants you dead by dawn tomorrow."

Cerdan shrugged. "And what, praytell, do _you_ want?"

She rubbed her cheek and began to pace the cell in front of him. "I haven't decided yet." Neither elf said anything for a moment, and Cerdan waited while she continued to pace back and forth.

"I _am_ guilty, you know," he said suddenly, taking on a more serious tone. "The blood of thousands _is_ on my hands, I won't try to convince you otherwise. And if I do meet the end of a rope, there's something I'd like you to do for me.

"Remember that kid Bryn, Derrick's son? I want you to get him out of the guild and make him go back to his father up north in Waterdeep." He let a smile appear on his lips. "You're a preacher, I'm sure you can guilt an impressionable kid like him into it."

Selena stopped moving and waited expectantly, but nothing else came forth. "That's it? That's the only thing you're concerned about?"

"Yep, pretty much. Why? Were you expecting me to confess an undying love for you or something?" he continued smiling and winked at her.

"Aren't you even remotely concerned about your impending death? There is no legal way that I can help you escape this fate."

Cerdan let out a sigh and shook his head. "I've cheated Death enough times in my life, that I imagine it has become quite frustrated with me. But I suppose it was inevitable that I'd have to let it win a round some day."

"By all rights, I _should_ leave you here to the Prelate's wrath…" Selena let the words dangle in the air for a moment. Then, somewhat reluctantly, she stepped in close, placed a finger against each of the rogue's manacles, and uttered a string of arcane syllables.

Two loud clicking sounds came from the bonds, and the shackles fell loose off the thief's wrists. Cerdan rubbed his hands and looked the red-haired elf in the eye. "Why did you come here, Selena?"

"I've always believed in redemption over retribution. I certainly won't be a party to your death, not after all we've been through."

He flashed a relaxed grin. "Well, thank you. I knew you'd find it in your heart to forgive m–"

The priestess suddenly lashed out, striking him hard across the face with an open hand. Cerdan held the stinging spot on his cheek and gave her an incredulous stare.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. You admitted yourself that you're responsible for the slaughter of my people, and you don't even seem to regret it, either. That's something I will never forgive you for." The priestess took a step back. "I've given you a second chance. You saved my life several years ago, so now I'm saving yours. But don't assume that I'll ever do this again."

She turned and headed for the door. "Please, Caden," she said, voice tinged with bitterness, "You are not the person I thought you were. You're a blackheart, and I don't want to see you any more. Don't ever try to contact me again."

She left the cell door ajar as she walked out of Cerdan's life, leaving the rogue in the dim room on his own. He waited for her footsteps to fade away down the corridor, then peeked outside to make sure the hallway was clear.

_I wish things could have been different, Selena_, he thought to himself. As much as he wanted to try and make peace with her, he knew that this was no time to be thinking about anything other than escape. That didn't make it any easier to push away the lingering regrets of the priestess' disappointment in him.

Trying to swallow the lump that had appeared in his throat, Cerdan moved down the hall to the chest sitting beside the stairs and rummaged through it, taking back his cloak and sword that were previously confiscated by the knights.

The only thing that remained now was sneaking out of the tower, and figuring out what in the hells he was going to do next.

(7:54)

"Lazy provincials," Fara muttered as she stepped through the empty palace halls. "Where are all the guards? It speaks ill of their work ethic to abandon their posts like this." Sometimes it felt like she was the only human in the building that took things seriously.

She unsuccessfully tried to straighten the creases out of her attire, then approached the door to her chambers and stepped inside." I'm back. Why is our protection entourage absent from this floor?"

Duke Ryloch emerged from his study, peeling a green apple with a rather large knife. "I sent them away. It would be more difficult if they remained." A piece of green apple skin fell to the floor.

"_What_ would be more difficult?" Fara strode forward a few steps. "Are you planning some more illegal activities?"

The door suddenly slammed shut behind her. Fara whirled her head back to see Ryloch's aide fastening the locks on the entrance.

"As a matter of fact, we are," Ryloch replied, cutting a sliver from the fruit and raising it to his lips. "You're a very inquisitive person, but you're not very bright. I'm afraid we have no further need for you."

"What are you babbling about?" She took a tentative step to the side, turning slightly so she could keep an eye on both Ryloch and his aide.

The Duke simply tilted his head and arched an eyebrow toward the aide. Fara watched in wary silence as the aide closed his eyes and made a pair of fists across his chest, as if trying to concentrate hard on something. After a few seconds, the man's form started to change into a thick, grey blur. Fara glanced back at the Duke in alarm, but Ryloch looked strangely preoccupied with removing the skin from his apple.

The aide's blurry appearance suddenly shifted and snapped to clarity. Only now, the young man was replaced with the spitting image of Fara herself, right down to the creases in her robe.

Fara shrieked and jumped back, hitting the wall as the duplicate smiled at her and chuckled. The real Fara cried, "What sorcery is this!"

"What sorcery is this?" echoed the duplicate in an identical voice.

"Not sorcery, milady," said the Duke, still focused on his fruit. "It is simply how my species acts to survive. I'm afraid your husband, Duke Ryloch, has been dead for quite some time now." He pointed toward Fara's double with the knife and cast a glance toward the real woman. "Take her, and try make it quick and bloodless. I'd rather not have the maid asking questions."

The duplicate made a flicking gesture, and her hands transformed into two sets of large, grey-clawed talons that looked distinctly out of place from the rest of the shapeshifter's body. Fara sank back as the creature advanced on her, its claws raised and ready to strike.

Duke Ryloch made one final stroke with his knife, and the last piece of green outer peel fell to the floor just as Fara's screams began to fill the chamber.

**(8:00 PM)**


	16. Identity Crisis

**Identity Crisis**

**(8:00 PM)**

_Even if he is the Bloodletter, he strikes me as something of a cowardly waif. So if he escapes, he will avoid the direct route, _Dace thought to himself as he waited, leaning against a large rock. The mercenary was a fair distance from the faithmongers on patrol; within temple grounds and close enough to see the back of the tower, but far enough that he had ample time to disappear in the off chance that he was spotted.

Despite all his candour, the mercenary was clear-minded enough to know that he would need assistance in order to reach his next target. Cordas was dead, he gathered that much from what he overheard while sneaking out of the temple. But the crimelord's superiors, the ones who directed Cordas to steal the Sigils, were still at large, as was the wayward celestial.

Dace couldn't possibly care less about the artifacts or whatever grandiose plans they were carrying out… all he wanted now was to strike back against the self-righteous celestial. And perhaps revitalize his underworld reputation; after being out of the business for the past three years, it would take a rather significant kill to re-establish his old standing.

Pushing away from the rock, Dace began moving closer to the tower as a cloaked figure climbed out one of the windows. Moving quickly, Dace crossed the field and intercepted the elf as he sprinted away from the building.

"Why are you still here?" asked the elf, not slowing down as they reached the edge of the temple grounds.

"Cyrael tried to kill me, and I always pay back slights against my person."

"The priestess and I had you locked away on Lancam's Isle. Are you planning to pay me back for that? If you are, I'd really like to know so I can expect the blade in my back ahead of time."

Dace snorted indignantly and tugged on the cuff of his leather jerkin. "I was fool enough to be apprehended on that fateful day, therefore I deserved that fate. The celestial, however, _failed_ to end my life, therefore I deserve to live and exact vengeance upon him." He paused a moment to lock a solid glare at the elf. "Moreover, my contract to you is still in place."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure that all sounds deceptively rational." The elf arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying the mercenary's reasoning. "But even so, I'll need to stop off at my guild before we do anything. I think we're going to need more manpower and supplies than what we have right now."

"Do you have a set of lockpicks?"

"Uh, yes. I took them back from the evidence chest after Selena set –"

"Then we require nothing else. The strength and skill behind your actions should come from you and you alone, not in the tools or magical curios you wield." A breeze blew past and as the mercenary's cloak fluttered slightly, Cerdan noticed Dace was holding a dagger in his hand. "If you refuse, then I will interpret your action as a hostility against my personal safety."

The elf frowned, but decided to play along for the moment. "Fine, whatever. You're even madder than I am, so maybe there's something to your ill-conceived plan after all. But even if we do try to handle this alone, it still begs the question of where Cyrael is hiding right now."

"That, I do not know."

"Or do you expect to track down the man that Cordas answered to… what was the name Tavros gave you? 'Pryus' or something? Where, praytell, can we find _him_?"

"That, I do not know."

As they reached the pavement, the thief slowed to a stop and folded his arms over his chest. "Then how, praytell, do you propose we find them?"

"Simple…" Dace removed a rolled parchment from inside his jacket and unravelled it, holding the scroll up for the elf to see. "These are the orders for my release from Lancam's Isle earlier today. A full, genuine pardon from a Baldur's Gate official. Somehow, this man was convinced to set free a murderer sentenced to three consecutive life terms." He tapped a finger on the signature scrawled at the bottom. "So we travel to the Ducal Palace, and we interrogate this Duke Ryloch."

(8:07)

"What do you mean 'his cell is empty'! I checked on him no more than an hour ago!" bellowed Saudere, charging down the steps into the prison level. "How could he possibly escape when he was imprisoned just this evening?"

Charell wiped her forehead, struggling to keep pace with the High Prelate. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea, sir. I don't know how he could possibly free himself from those manacles, they were magically bound with an enchantment and –"

"How many men do you have available?" he snapped.

"Er, not many, sir. Most are still wounded or otherwise exhausted from the earlier problems in the temple, and priestess Shademoor is currently preparing to lead the remainder to search the city for the stolen Sigils."

Saudere reached the end of the corridor, stepped into the cell, and surveyed the room. There was no sign of a struggle, and the manacles didn't appear to be damaged. Someone had to have voluntarily released the Bloodletter.

"Find the priestess immediately," he said, picking up one of the manacles by the chain. "Make sure she doesn't have a chance to set foot outside the tower; I want to interrogate her personally."

"But sir, the Sigils –"

"This is more important than some sparkly trinkets. There are thousands of dead souls crying out for justice, and I'll not let any person under my charge ignore them," he growled, hurling the manacle into the wall. "Mark this: If the priestess is responsible I'll have her head. This proves it. Elves only care about aiding their own kind."

(8:10)

"You mean the Duke's wife learned of our plans?" growled the man in the mirror pane, brushing a spot of dirt from the breast of his red armour.

Ryloch raised his head and looked down his nose at Pryus. "She has been dealt with, but now we'll have to fabricate a story for my aide's 'disappearance'."

"You're becoming sloppy, you incompetent false-face. What happens if other officials come to suspect what she knew? Do you and your aide intend to knock off each of them in turn and then masquerade as half the palace court?"

"The matter is well in hand. At worst, I can abandon this lifestyle and set up again elsewhere." The Duke shrugged a shoulder. "It matters not, as I imagine the whole Sword Coast will be busy enough when the new order comes into play."

"I think you are becoming lax in your current identity."

"And why not? What is 'identity' to these primates, but little more than a name and face? My people have the _gift_, so it is our birthright to make use of these creatures as we will. You and I are equals in this endeavour, we both know that humans squander the precious identities they possess."

Pryus snorted out a wisp of smoke. "You're rationalizing now."

"I care not," Ryloch fired back without pause. "In human society, 'tis far better to wear the mask of a somebody than to live true as a nobody. Whatever fate befalls these people is one that they set upon themselves."

"Believe that if you like. I've found that they are often more irritatingly resourceful than anticipated." Pryus snarled slightly, scratching at the back of his hand. "Very well. Continue your charade if you will, but know that I'll grant you no sympathy should you fail to adequately conceal yourself." The red lord waved his arm, and his image dissipated."

Ryloch looked toward the grandfather lock by the wall and grabbed another apple from his desk as he noted the time. His agents should soon be contacting him via spell, and then he would have no further reason to remain under his current façade. Still, he enjoyed the amenities that accompanied this particular name and title. Who knows? With time and selective targets, his people might yet become the masters of this teeming enclave of primates. Anything was possible, if you had the right gift.

(8:14)

"I guess we should be grateful that the city's rulers placed the new temple of Tyr so close to the Ducal Palace. Those politicians just keep worrying about their own health, don't they?" said Cerdan, glancing over at his dour companion.

The mercenary grunted in response and continued peering through the bushes and past the iron fence, observing the guard movements around the palace perimeter. "Four patrols, each taking a slightly different route. But they all eventually go past this side of the building every few minutes."

Cerdan peeked around the foliage and examined the south entrance of the building in the distance. This was the only part of the palace that lacked a watch station. The door at the wall's mid-point was likely in place for the servants, who were housed in a separate building on the opposite side of the palace, across the garden and orchard."

"One patrols seems to make the rounds a bit slower than the others. That affords us a better window of opportunity." Dace pointed at a pair of guards coming from around the corner of the palace wall. "There. That is the lagging patrol. I estimate we will have under six minutes to climb the fence, sprint across the field, pick the lock, and get inside."

Cerdan nodded his tacit approval, and they continued to wait patiently for the patrol to pass by again. "So…" the elf suddenly said, "How's the food at Lancam's Isle? I figure I should find out, since I might end up there in the near future."

"You talk far too much for a former warlord. Caden the Bloodletter never became famous for his ability to hold inane conversation."

"Please don't call me that," Cerdan muttered, the levity leaving his tone. "I haven't gone by that name for a long time. It's not who I am now."

"So who are you then? Do you carry a black heart or a white hat?"

_That's a better question than you're aware_, Cerdan thought, _What identity should I call my own now? Hero or villain?_

"Earlier today," began the rogue, abruptly changing the subject. "Selena believed that _you _were the Bloodletter. Guess no one told her Caden was an incredibly handsome devil, hey?"

"More faithmonger ineptitude. The Battle of Caden's Hill took place almost fifty years ago. I was likely still being spoon-fed then." Narrowing his eyes across the field, Dace continued, "You do not possess the demeanour of a soldier. It is a wonder that your kind could muster up enough military strength to slaughter thousands of knights."

"In the end we didn't fend them off with armed force… it's complicated than you know."

"Is that regret in your voice?"

Cerdan released a single, indignant laugh. "Hardly. Why would I regret the outcome of the war? We _won_, despite what the faithmongers may think. I'd do it all again, if I had to."

"Then perhaps you are not such a hopeless fool after all." Standing, the mercenary began to move around the bushes toward the palace fence. "But stop talking like a sentimental fool. I was a frontline soldier once, and I bear no illusions on the matter; a leader's duty is to send his men to die, and to ensure they do so in the right place and time." He stepped up and grabbed the iron bars, preparing to hoist himself up. "And on that related note, it is now time for an audience with the esteemed Duke Ryloch."

(8:22)

"We need a diviner to detect when she lies." Saudere stopped before opening the door. The elf waited inside, and he wanted to be prepared. "No doubt she'll attempt to further deny her involvement with the Bloodletter and his subsequent escape."

"I hardly think this is all necessary, sir," piped Charell, "The priestess has always been one of our most forthright faithful, and I'm sure she'll –"

"No. I can no longer afford to simply take her words at face value. Who is the most experienced diviner in the temple?"

"Priestess Shademoor."

The High Prelate grit his teeth. "Then who is the _next_ most experienced?"

Charell scratched her neck, "Well, of those available, it would probably be me."

"Good, then we can begin at once." He turned and opened the door. The young woman quietly took a deep breath, then followed him into the chamber where the priestess waited.

"Must we constantly go through this routine?" Selena asked as Saudere took a seat in the chair across from her. The elf cast a questioning glance toward Charell, forcing the younger cleric to look away. "We both have more important duties to attend."

Saudere pointed directly at Charell and said, "Begin your casting." He then turned back to the priestess. "I don't trust your words, elf, so the cleric here will be divining every sentence that escapes your lips. She will gauge the falsehood of each statement you make, so do not deign to trick us."

Charell closed her eyes a moment and waved her hands in the necessary spell gestures. Ironically enough, the priestess herself was the one who taught her this spell many years ago. The human cleric cleared the thought from her mind as she finished casting, and a slight buzzing sensation overcame her body. Opening her eyes, the cleric could now make out a slight aura around each person in the room; Selena, High Prelate Saudere, even the guards standing on either side of the elf woman.

They were all limned with a colourless spiritual aura that seemed to make the air around them seem to wiggle and wave, like the air near an open campfire without the smoke. So long as the aura remained transparent, Charell would know that they were telling the truth… assuming there were no other magical countermeasures in the room to throw her off. No spell was foolproof, and even the most skilled casting could be trumped.

The cleric nodded to the Prelate, and he began his interrogation. "How long have you served the Church of Tyr?" he asked. Charell guessed he wanted to test the divination magic first, before getting to the heavier questions.

"Almost my entire life, ever since I was a child."

The woman's aura remained unchanged, so Charell nodded to Saudere. "Truth."

"Now speak a lie, priestess."

"I am a traitor to the Church of Tyr," she said in a flat voice, staring into the Prelate's eyes. Instantly, the aura changed to an opaque black, like smoke coming off her form. In a few moments after speaking, the priestess' aura cleared up and became transparent again.

"False," said Charell.

"Hm. Very well, then." Despite the result of her statement, Saudere clearly didn't look impressed at all. "However, I imagine that the truth and what you may _believe _to be the truth are two separate spheres. State your rank and name in the Church."

"Priestess of Tyr, Selena Shademoor," she replied. As she spoke the name, however, her aura suddenly shifted to black again.

Charell stared at the priestess with an arched eyebrow, wondering what this could all mean. "She spoke falsehood on her name…"

Before Saudere could pounce, the elf raised a hand. "While that is not my elven birth name, it _is_ the name that I adopted for use in human society. It's a rough equivalent in Common, and was never meant as a deception. I've used this name for so long, that it has become natural to me."

Her aura went clear again as she spoke. Charell nodded an affirmation to the Prelate, but also sent a wary gaze at the priestess. Selena had never mentioned anything about this to Charell before, and the cleric started to wonder if she might actually be hiding more than she was letting on, as Saudere seemed to believe.

"According to Church records, you have a history of opposition to the execution of prisoners, but it only ranges back to about fifty years ago. That's around the time of the Battle of Caden's Hill. What happened?"

Charell rubbed the back of her neck, wondering what the Prelate might be getting at. Throughout the young cleric's entire life, Priestess Shademoor had always been a challenger against agents in the temple who sought to have criminals hanged or beheaded. Before now, the Charell never wondered why the Selena felt this way; she just assumed it was part of the elf's nature.

The priestess took a slow breath, and the fingers on her left hand fluttered for an instant. "Fifty years ago, I captured and arrested a particularly notorious criminal; a serial killer, in fact. This resulted in his public execution a few weeks later. While this happened during the war, it was not related in any way."

"I see. So what made this execution so special? Why did this cloud your perspective on rightful justice?"

There was a spot of sweat visible on Selena's forehead. "That- that isn't something I wish to discuss, and it is completely irrelevant to the case of the Bloodletter. The Church still has records of that case, and you can consult–"

"I've already read the case documents, and I am convinced that your change in perspective is a sign of weak spirit." The Prelate suddenly shifted to a sharper tone, "How long have you been in association with the Bloodletter?"

"I've known him for about three years," she sighed, shaking her head. "But before today I never knew he was the Bloodletter, or even a fugitive of war."

"Have you ever provided him with information against the interests of Tyr's justice?"

"No, never. At worst, we traded information on criminal activity in the city, in order to better apprehend the more violent types that prowl this city like wolves; murderers, anarchists, those sorts. But I wouldn't pass him anything harmful to the Church or the general population of Baldur's Gate."

Saudere leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. The frown on his face grew as he spoke, "Did you enter Caden's cell alone tonight, shortly before eight?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. Charell noticed that the priestess was now sitting almost perfectly still, not moving at all, except to speak. She was hiding something.

"For what purpose?"

Selena hesitated a moment, letting her eyes close briefly. Charell shifted uncomfortably, hoping the priestess would just spare herself the difficulty and speak the honest truth. Clearing her throat, the elf said, "I went there to put an end to my relations with the blackheart, and to say goodbye. That is –"

"I don't believe you!" Saudere bolted up from his seat and slammed his hands down on the table. The sudden noise caused Charell to flinch slightly, but the priestess remained impassive. "Do not seek to leave a smear upon the souls of those who perished at Caden's Hill!"

Charell came forward and gently pulled the Prelate away by the shoulders. "Please sir, she's telling the truth. Perhaps our resources would be better spent elsewhere, such as a renewed search for the Bloodletter?"

"Sir," Selena cut in, "my loyalties to the Church remain. I only seek to prevent further harm to our Order and to the people of the city. Right now, we're wasting time on this witch hunt, when there is a far more potent threat, a fallen celestial, freely roaming Baldur's Gate."

Saudere frowned and refused to back down from the matter. "The Order of Tyr fought and won against a tribe of heretic elves during the Bloodletter's war. How does that make you feel? Does it make you resent the holy symbol you wear about your neck?"

"I am a faithful of Tyr, first and foremost. Being an elf is irrelevant to that fact." Selena leaned forward and folded her hands. "Moreover, I cannot offer an opinion on the war itself when the details surrounding the Battle of Caden's Hill are so shrouded. For one, what exactly was the nature of the 'Behemoth', and what role did it play in the conflict?"

Saudere's lip twitched and he uncrossed his arms, placing his hands flat on the table as he loomed closer. "You presume much by questioning _me_, but unlike you, I have nothing to hide. I can freely say that the Behemoth was a weapon of magic, created by the elven forces to commit atrocities against humanity. One more crime by your kind."

Strangely enough, the Prelate's aura turned dark as he said this. Charell's brow furrowed, but she decided it would be safer not to voice that peculiarity at this time. Perhaps the Prelate was unaware that the divination was affecting him as well.

"Ahem," the cleric began, "Prelate, she has been more or less straightforward and honest with us. As I suggested, might it be time to consider turning our attention elsewhere? It would be more practical to start searching the district for the escaped prisoner."

Saudere wiped his forehead, then pointed a finger in the elf's direction again. "You are hereby confined to your quarters until I give permission otherwise. I think my Royal Horsemen will be needed to hunt down the Bloodletter, so your goose chase for this 'fallen celestial' that no one else has seen is at an end." He motioned to the guards. "Take the priestess away."

As the knights moved to take her by the arms, Selena shook them off and stood on her own accord. "Sir, you're making a mistake. I am not an enemy to the Church. For your sake, I do hope the celestial isn't planning anything destructive for the city."

As she was escorted out of the room, Saudere turned to Charell and said, "Send out an order to the knights and city officers in the region: All exits from the nobles' district are to be sealed. Nobody is permitted to move in or out this night until the Bloodletter is found.

(8:33)

"I've sent an aide out to round up the palace guards you dismissed earlier. They should be back in place within the hour," said Fara, or more precisely, the being that now wore Fara's face.

Ryloch nodded, "And the human woman's corpse?"

"Disposed of via the same venue as the Duke."

"Good. There is little to do now but wait for our colleagues to complete their own assignments. Why don't you go stalk about the palace halls and complain about your 'husband'? The palace staff shouldn't suspect that anything is different."

Fara grinned and stepped out of the room, leaving Ryloch alone in his study with the mirror.

"Pryus is right," said a female voice from the mirror. "You _are_ becoming too comfortable in this current role. I warn you not to lose sight of the long goal. You seem to be growing distracted over momentary pleasures."

"The people left themselves open to threats, it should be within our right to enjoy the opulence that these primates have otherwise squandered."

"So your spite toward them simply stems from a matter of outward appearance, then?"

"Nothing more," Ryloch replied, reaching for another green apple. "I don't expect _you_ to understand what it is like to be brought into this world without the treasure of identity and individuality."

"Understand it, no." The woman in the mirror suddenly glanced upward, concern evident on her face as the illumination on her side of the portal flickered briefly. The light then returned to normal and she calmed down. "But I can empathize, as does Pryus, as does Cyrael. However, let me warn you that we still have work to be done before the night is through. Do not let the trappings of your temporary identity overtake your judgment."

"Mm. You mean _you_ still have work to be done. The Behemoth's Heart?"

"Recovered like child's play. But the darkness of the night impedes my search for the wielder."

Nodding along, Ryloch flipped a knife in his hand, catching it by the handle. "You should have dealt with him sooner."

"No, that would not do." The woman shook her head briefly. "It was important to begin by cutting off his contacts and allies in the city. With no remaining bastion, he will return to the righteous cause. Even after only fifty years, he has no doubt lost some of his inner fire." She paused, seemingly caught up in some distant memory, and lightly ran a finger across her lips before continuing. "A rekindling of the spirit is needed first, if he is to be reminded of his priorities…"

(8:37)

"Inconceivable…" Saudere muttered to himself, leaning over to rifle through the desk drawers. "Where did I leave the cardinal scroll?"

It wasn't until just a few minutes ago that he realized he'd left the red documents exposed. The priestess knew about the Behemoth, so the Prelate had to assume that the information was compromised. Yanking open one of his travel bags, Saudere breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the other red scrolls were still safely collected.

At least the priestess didn't have the gall to go snooping through his personal equipment. If she wasn't fully aware of what the Behemoth was, then perhaps he could let the matter slide for now. But her discovery made it clear that he couldn't afford to keep the remaining documents here any longer.

Before he could even think about how to destroy the cardinal scrolls, the Prelate heard a rapping upon his chamber door. He quickly sealed the bag and tucked it back underneath the desk. "Enter."

One of his Royal Horsemen stepped inside, followed shortly by Villet, that young acolyte who always seemed to be underfoot in the temple. The knight bowed and spoke loudly, "This whelp claims he has something to tell you concerning the Bloodletter. Apparently –"

Villet took a brazen step forward past the paladin, holding his head high. He quickly blurted out, "Priestess Shademoor _is_ a traitor. She set that elven criminal free!"

Saudere stood from his chair and braced his hands on the desk. "Are you certain of this, boy? I warn you, I'm in very little mood for baseless accusations and tall tales from children attempting to curry my favour. How do you know this?"

"I was down in the prison level doing some chores earlier, and I spied the priestess enter his cell. I heard the criminal tell her to deliver a message to his allies in the thieves' guild, and then they walked out a few minutes later and –"

The Prelate didn't want to hear anything further. Now he had a witness to the priestess' indiscretions against the Church. He jabbed a finger toward the Royal Horseman. "Alert the tower knights, and inform them that the priestess is a traitor to their cause. No one is permitted to see the elf without my express permission."

He returned his attention to Villet as the paladin saluted and left. "As for you, acolyte, you seem like a rightly lad to me. There is a special task I want you to do for me…"

(8:40)

Pressing his back flat against a pillar in the palace, Cerdan slowed his breathing and kept still, trying to avoid letting his shadow fall outside the small alcove. The elf raised the onyx statuette in his hand, and waited patiently as the footsteps approached his position. As soon as the sounds began to recede, the rogue emerged from behind the column and stepped out after the guard.

He slammed the figurine down, cracking the guard in the base of the skull. Cerdan had to move quickly to catch the man as his unconscious form lurched forward, but only managed to slow the guard's collapse due to the man's bulk.

"Too loud," whispered Dace, appearing from behind the elf. "Difficult to believe you made a living as a thief. Perhaps a leadership role has rendered you inept."

Struggling under the guard's weight, Cerdan gradually dragged the unconscious officer back to the alcove, hiding the man's body behind the marble column. He didn't bother responding to the blackheart's jab, but kept glancing about the corridor in case someone did come to investigate the commotion. The elf quickly placed the onyx statuette back on the corridor shelf where it came from, just in case the other palace guards were more attentive to detail than the one who was now off in dreams.

"Doesn't it strike you oddly," began the elf, "that there are so few guards on patrol in the palace? This floor, especially."

Dace shrugged and continued to step through the hallway, dousing every third wall lantern they passed to keep patches of shadow present in the corridor.

Cerdan glanced back into the passageway behind them, wondering if he was imagining sounds. Only one of the Dukes was currently in the city as far as he knew, based on guild reports from the past few days. That still didn't explain the absence of security here. The rogue thought back to his capture at the temple, wondering if Selena could have set him free earlier as part of a trap.

Removing the magical tracking crystal from his pocket, the elf checked the golden lights. All the tiny sparks were starting to grow dim, indicating that the magic was starting to deplete itself. Currently, the lights were still all clustered in a location to the north, the Tower of Tyr, no doubt. Of course, that didn't mean the palace guards weren't partaking in a snare of some kind, lulling the two fugitives into a false sense of comfort.

"There," Dace whispered, pointing at a heavy oaken door at the end of the hall. Hanging on the walls alongside of the doorway were two royal blue standards, each bearing a symbol in the shape of a three-horned helmet. The mark of Balduran, founder of the city. The banners clearly indicated that the room belonged to a Duke of Baldur's Gate.

They approached the door, and Cerdan grabbed the handle, motioning for the human to stand back. There were voices coming from the other side, so the rogue guessed that this must be Ryloch's chamber; the other Dukes' private rooms would likely be vacant during their absence from the city.

Dace quietly drew his dagger from its sheath and held it ready. The mercenary glanced back down the hall for a moment as Cerdan slowly twisted the handle, checking if the door was locked. He encountered no resistance, and passed a quick nod to the mercenary.

Cerdan flung the door open wide and Dace calmly strode in. Within the chamber were two middle-aged humans, a man and a woman, both dressed in the type of clean garb seen among nobility. Naturally, they immediately got to their feet as the intruders entered unannounced.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you and how did –"

"Duke Ryloch," Dace held his arm out , levelling the blade in the man's direction. "You will seat yourself and be silent, lest spoken to." He brought out the scroll containing the prison release orders, and threw them toward the Duke as he closed in. "We have a matter to discuss. As you can see, I am a convicted serial murderer, dangerous enough to be sent to Lancam's Isle and _survive_. So you would do well to avoid angering the man with the blade. I have absolutely no qualms with murdering a pair of high-strung nobles; it would certainly go toward restoring my reputation."

Cerdan closed the door behind him and watched as Dace moved forward to force the Duke and his wife into their leather chairs adjacent to the fireplace. Neither noble appeared the least bit frightened by the intruders, which seemed strange to the elf. Then again, as politicians they were likely confronted with death threats on a daily basis.

The woman glanced warily between the intruders, then looked toward her husband as they settled into their chairs. "Ryloch, shall we…?"

Staring at the document in his hands, the Duke's eyebrow furrowed and he quickly shook his head. "Perhaps we should hear these gentlemen out, and learn what brought them to us." The man's eyebrow arched slightly, and Cerdan didn't like the curiosity in the man's voice. He was planning something troublesome, no doubt.

"Now," began the mercenary, standing before the empty fireplace, "let us begin with your relationship with a Southside Row gangster named Cordas…"

(8:49)

Selena stared at herself in the mirror, trying to figure out in her mind exactly how she could have ended up in such a position and, more importantly, how she was going to rectify this whole mistake. That's what it had to be; a misunderstanding, a lapse in judgment. But a lapse on whose part?

_If a knight knowingly obeys an unjust order from his commander, which of them is more at fault?_ It was a rhetorical question asked of every young acolyte who would deign to become a full member of Tyr's faithful, one that Selena herself was once quizzed on many years ago. Ironically enough, that must have been nearly fifty years ago, around the time of the war against Caden. Now, more than ever, she wished she could remember how she replied.

The door to her chamber suddenly creaked open, and the elf turned to see one of the Royal Horsemen holding it open for Prelate Saudere.

"We know you set him free," he said in a steady voice. It was the dead certainty in his tone that pierced into Selena's being. It sounded like he was no longer making assumptions or blind guesses on her actions… this time it seemed like he truly had it. In that moment, it all blew up in Selena's face.

"Priestess Selena Shademoor, by the authority vested in me by the Order of Tyr, I am hereby placing you under arrest for conspiring against the Church and aiding the unlawful release of a justly convicted criminal."

The elf felt her left hand reflexively close into a fist, but she quickly released it. "His conviction was anything but just. Am I to be hanged at dawn in his place, then?"

"No. There are strict procedures and investigations that must be adhered when the accused is a member of Tyr's faithful." He paused a moment and his lip curled into a sneer. "If you were a competent person, you might have remembered that before you brashly decided to kill Sir Treysen. Strikingly ironic, isn't it?" Turning his back on the priestess, Saudere moved back toward the hall outside.

"Sir," she called, "I did what I believed was right. If you think Caden is the villain, then you've made a grave error. Everything that has come to pass thus far is part of something sinister." Saudere paused in the doorway as she spoke. "This is a serious matter that can't be ignored by the Church. It's greater than me, greater than you, and greater than Caden. If I am to remain held, then I implore you; carry on the search for the Sigils and the fallen celestial, Cyrael."

Saudere was silent for a moment, then craned his head to throw a glance over his shoulder. "Someone will be sent here later to take an official statement from you. Don't think I'm fool enough to put you in one of temple jail cells… you've probably set a multitude of ways to escape. After your statement is taken, you'll be moved to an appropriate prison until the investigation can begin in a few days. " The Prelate nodded to the guard, and walked away as the knight sealed the door shut.

Resting her head in her hands, the priestess let out a groan. _I'm not wrong about this, I can't be. With all due respect, High Prelate, I'm going to fight against this. Cyrael is still prowling the night. If you won't follow the true threat, then it falls on myself to make a stand, for all our sakes._

(8:53)

"Hello, here's something interesting." Cerdan raised the document up to his face and checked every word closely. The elf slammed the desk drawer shut and stepped out of the study. He waved the sheet high in the air. "What's this matter about the 'Wild Source' and Waterdeep, good sir?"

Ryloch gripped the arms of his leather chair and didn't remove himself from his continuous glower at the mercenary.

"You have not been forthcoming with any information thus far, and my patience is at an end. Now answer him," said Dace, leaning forward and making a light slash across the left leg of the noble's trousers. "It is in your best interest to _not _prove yourself useless to me."

"I don't think you understand just who it is you're threatening," replied Ryloch. "When the guards return, you could both be executed for this whole debacle."

The elf laughed as he tossed the letter to the mercenary. "That is quite unlikely. He's a borderline madman, and I'm the local Shadow Thief guildmaster of the city. Between the two of us, I think we're capable of outfighting or outwitting whatever low-paid muscleman comes through the front door."

"You're the guildmaster?" the Duke whispered aloud. His expression changed ever so slightly, and he raised an eyebrow in what appeared to be a look of curiosity. "…Very well, the truth then. The Wild Source is a chunk of black stone from up north. From what I know, it's an artifact that possesses one of the highest concentrations of wild magic in all the Realms."

"Wild magic?" echoed the mercenary.

"Ugh, it's a new form of magic that came about during the Time of Troubles. Freakishly chaotic," Cerdan mused, shaking his head in disgust. "It creates dangerous and completely unpredictable effects whenever a spell is cast… try to throw something even as simple as a magic missile in a wild magic zone, and you might find your clothing spontaneously turn pink, or a dozen gateways to the Nine Hells could suddenly open up before you."

"And this Wild Source carries an even greater concentration of magical power than that found in the Helmlands," Ryloch continued. "One of the benefits to being a Duke of Baldur's Gate is complete knowledge of some of the highest demanded valuables in the Realms."

Cerdan scratched the underside of his chin as he considered this. Ryloch now had a connection to two major artifacts; this Wild Source and, through Dace, the Sigils of the Fallen. It couldn't be a coincidence that the Duke would simultaneously have a hand on such volatile artifacts without some greater agenda.

"Hold a moment," said the elf, "Why are you telling us this? When you heard that I was the guildmaster you suddenly changed your attitude…"

Ryloch simply grinned at the rogue.

"Are you bringing this Wild Source to the city?" Dace demanded, ignoring the elf's suspicions. He turned to face Cerdan. "If the Source is on its way, then Cyrael may emerge to retrieve it." Looking toward the Duke once more, Dace leaned forward and planted a foot against the chair. "When is it arriving in Baldur's Gate? And by what route, land or sea?"

Surprisingly, the wide smirk remained on the Duke's face as the mercenary spoke. "Wrong time, wrong place, you animal. The Wild Source _left_ Baldur's Gate over a week ago. Don't you understand? It's already moved beyond your grasp. Even now, it sits in the hands of my associates." The man chuckled as Cerdan and Dace exchanged glances. "You primates are too late."

(8:58)

"Sickening stench," he mumbled, wiping the last drops of vomit from his lips. Being up here on top deck was a nightmare; he hated the salty stink of the ocean waters. Even the rain from the storm overhead did little to curb the scent, but there was little he could do to avoid this responsibility.

"Captain Masque!" shouted a voice from the main deck over the rumble of the storm. "Our lookout has spotted an escape boat a short distance off starboard, possibly survivors from a downed vessel. Shall we intercept?"

Straightening his posture, the Captain replaced the officer's cap atop his bald head. "How far are we from the shoreline?"

"Only a few hours until we reach the Waterdhavian harbour, but we should still stop to pick up these survivors. It _is_ our responsibility. And those people probably won't last long enough in this terrible thunderstorm for another ship to rescue them." The ship rocked violently to the side, and both the Captain and his first officer had to seize the nearest rail posts to keep from losing their balance on the wet surface of the deck.

After a moment, the officer continued to yell to the Captain, "Of course, if they _do_ happen to survive, some might wonder why the official flagship of the Sword Coast alliance would be forsaking its duty!"

Masque frowned and wiped his moustache as rainwater continued to pour down over the brim of his hat. With a reluctant nod, he gestured for the first mate to begin the recovery. "Very well, we'll make a short stop to rescue these people, but make sure there are no spellcasters among their number. And confine them to the passenger decks. I don't want anyone sticking their noses into our precious cargo…"

"Aye, Captain."

The Captain turned his gaze outward and glanced up at the moon's position, which was barely visible through the dark clouds overhead. The evening was still young and the ship was sturdy enough to weather the storm, so they could spare some time for this detour. Indeed, the only thing that mattered at this point was maintaining appearances. So long as none suspected that he wasn't the true captain of the _Ever Dauntless_, the Wild Source would reach his master's associates in due time…

**(9:00 PM)**


	17. Allegiances

**Allegiances**

**(9:00 PM)**

"You're wasting your time with this thuggish posturing, you know." Ryloch grinned through his bruised lips, looking past Dace at Cerdan. "Every minute you spend here makes it more likely that you'll both be caught."

Dace suddenly seized the Duke's wrist, holding it down against the armrest of the chair. Wordless, the mercenary brought up his dagger and drove it down with all his strength. A splash of blood spurted out from the wound as the blade impaled Ryloch's palm, and the nobleman howled out at the top of his lungs.

"Are you mad?!" Cerdan hissed, advancing toward the mercenary. "If there _are_ guards nearby…"

"Shut up, elf." Dace's arm went to the side, directing a finger of warning at the rogue. Staring impassively, the mercenary remained focused on keeping the hostage's hand pinned to the chair.

Breathing rapidly, the Duke turned a pair of fierce eyes on the elf. For a just moment, Cerdan could have sworn that they glinted yellow as the man got his panting under control. "Are you that weak?" asked Ryloch, "You take orders from a human?!" He was swiftly silenced when a black-gloved fist struck his mouth.

"Sir," the Duke's wife said to Ryloch in a sharp whisper, "We don't have to endure this… our 'gift'–" Her husband immediately shook his head, and the woman fell silent.

"Gift? What gift?" asked the elf. Both nobles remained clammed up. What were these people planning? And why would the woman call her husband 'sir'?

Dace leaned forward, bringing his face close to the Duke's, with only a few inches between them. "Tell me about Balduran," said the mercenary. For a moment, everyone in the room was silent.

"What? Why would we even want to kn–"

"I already told you, elf, to shut up." The mercenary looked back to the Duke. "Well?"

Ryloch's expression betrayed his confusion and the edge of his lip quivered. "I confess that I don't know as much about him as I should, beyond the fact that he founded this city."

"I see." Dace stood up straight and moved back a step. The Duke let out a sigh and relaxed a little, releasing his grip on the armrests of the chair. Before he could say anything else, however, Dace suddenly raised his leg and kicked the man squarely in the chest, knocking Ryloch with enough force to send his chair tipping over backward. The Duke grunted from the hard impact on the back of his head as the leather chair struck the ground, and he grabbed at the sides of the chair, struggling to get up.

The mercenary planted a foot on the Duke's chest and pointed his dagger down at the man's face. "I have been asking the wrong questions thus far." Narrowing his eyes at Ryloch, the man said, "_What_ are you, and what are you planning for the magical artifacts you and Cyrael have been smuggling?"

"…Hold a moment," Cerdan cut in, "What are you talking about now?"

"This 'Duke' is an impostor of some kind. I have been in this city long enough to know that even a newly appointed Duke is required to know a full history of Balduran and the founding of the Baldur's Gate. He also has absolutely no scent, does not behave like a noble-born, and just now referred to me as 'a human'." Dace suddenly flipped his dagger in his hand, caught it by the flat of the blade, and whipped it overhand to the side at Ryloch's wife. The woman, who had quietly risen from her seat as the others were talking, wavered as the blade 'thunked' into in the right side of her chest and collapsed back down to the chair. "Enough charades, 'Duke', _what_ are you?"

Ryloch glowered at the mercenary, not even showing a remote concern for the woman in the next seat. "Fine. The truth, then." He closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, causing his form to blur momentarily.

Cerdan's hand quickly fell to his hip, but he then remembered that he wasn't wearing a weapon at the moment. Looking around, he quickly snatched up an iron fireplace poker sitting beside the hearth. When the noble's blurred physical appearance finally cleared up, the esteemed city Duke was replaced with a naked, grey-skinned creature. Running a clawed hand over its hairless pate, it opened a pair of long, yellow eyes and blinked at the pair of intruders. The elf couldn't tell if the creature's expression was one of anger; its face seemed to be fixed in a single pose like a mask. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't human, or even a demi-human.

"A doppelganger," Dace growled at the creature. "You may have tricks, but you still bleed."

"It is useless to try and interrogate me," the creature wheezed. Its voice sounded to Cerdan like an elderly person speaking with dry dust in their throat. "It is already in motion, even I cannot stop it now."

"Stop what?!" shouted Dace, clearly unperturbed by the beast's alien appearance. "You have given nothing useful thus far. Monster or not, you _will_ answer me."

"That is exactly the problem with you humans: so quick to condemn us as 'monsters', so easily convinced of your own inflated righteousness," hissed the creature. "You dominate the realms through swarming and attrition, and then pretend to claim moral superiority. My associates and I are going to put an end to all that. We will attain immortality and become heralds for our dying races, and then we'll see how well you humans stand against _truly _righteous foes."

"What are you babbling about?" Dace demanded, kicking the grey-skinned creature in the torso. "The artifacts you and the celestial have stolen grant immortality?"

"Not yet, but Cyrael will bring about the change. He is the siphon; the magical energy will imbue us with the power. All our people, we'll survive despite your best efforts to drive us to extinction." The creature looked past the mercenary, focusing its yellow eyes on the elf. Its maw opened slightly, revealing an array of pointed teeth. "You should be with us, elf. Even your kind is threatened by humanity's run."

Cerdan frowned, and held the iron poker ready. "Why are you even telling us all this? Are you so confident that we'll be unable to oppose you?"

"No, I'm confident that you'd both be stupid enough to pay no attention as my associate changed form behind you."

The thief and the mercenary both stiffened for a moment and, as one, turned around to see a second, identical grey-skinned creature behind them. The second beast suddenly blurred and its body rapidly expanded until it was large enough that it wouldn't even be able to fit through the doorway. The Fara-doppelganger's physical appearance snapped to clarity, and the elf found himself staring up at a towering green troll. The dagger wound on its chest now looked like nothing more than a mere scratch. It didn't seem to be healing itself, however, so these 'doppelgangers' probably only took on the appearance of other races, not their inherent abilities.

Cerdan tried to raise his weapon, but the troll was faster and smacked him in the side with its huge slimy hand, sending the elf flying across the room into the wall, just missing the doorway to the Duke's study. The sound of the iron poker clattered on the floor near Ryloch's chair, and bright stars obscured the elf's vision for a moment. "Urgh," murmured the elf, gripping his head. "But it sure _feels_ like a troll."

As the elf attempted to regain his stance, he saw Dace throw himself toward the dagger, which was lying flat on the ground just behind the troll. The creature swung its long arm across, trying to club the mercenary over with the back of its massive green hand. Instead, Dace managed to seize the creature by the wrist and latched on tightly, even as the monster effortlessly hoisted the man up off the ground.

Still clinging to the beast's arm for support, Dace swung his body sideways in the air and landed a kick to the creature's face, driving the sole of his boot across the troll's hawk-like nose hard enough to make a damp 'cracking' noise. Roaring loud enough to force Cerdan to cover his ears and fall against the wall, the troll covered its nose with its free hand. It then charged toward the front of the room and hammered the mercenary against the chamber's heavy wooden door. With his face screwed in a look of pain, Dace lost his hold on the troll's arm and slid to the floor, his back still pressed against the door.

Meanwhile, Cerdan noticed the Ryloch-doppelganger had used the distraction to pick up the iron poker, and was slowly advancing on the elf. Struggling to keep his balance, the rogue shook his head a little, trying to ignore the dizzying pain in the back of his skull.

The doppelganger's smooth and nearly featureless face had no sign of emotion as it closed in. Were it not moving, it might have passed for a grey, pointy-eared mannequin of some sort. "Do not be so quick to pass judgment on me, elf, especially when your own species stands to gain from what we are doing. There is more going on and more at stake than you know." The creature's yellow, almond-shaped eyes narrowed into slits, and Ryloch suddenly broke into a run in the elf's direction, swinging the blunt weapon in a wide arc.

Cerdan saw it coming long before it struck, and easily jumped aside to let the blow swish past. But instead of stopping to swing again, the doppelganger continued to rush past, charging through the doorway beside the elf and into Ryloch's study.

At a loss for a weapon, and unable to receive aid from Dace as the mercenary continued to fight the troll-doppelganger, Cerdan seized the nearest solid object, a metal chamber pot lying on the floor beside the study. Standing in the doorway to block the doppelganger's escape, Cerdan stood straight and made his best attempt to look threatening with a chamber pot in one hand. "Enough of this, impostor. You're not going to… escape?"

The creature had its back to the elf and was currently touching a series of symbols that were etched onto the gilded, golden frame of the mirror that stood at the back of the study.

"What are you doing?" demanded the rogue, bracing himself in case his opponent was activating a spell.

The reflection in the mirror pane suddenly shifted to a noticeably different image, one that showed the interior of some sort of dark, rocky cavern. The doppelganger turned to the throw a look over its shoulder and stretched its lips back, baring its teeth in what might have been construed as a smile. "I will say again, elf. You should be on _our_ side of this conflict." Its face and body suddenly blurred, then changed to reveal a duplicate image of Cerdan himself. "We have more in common than you think."

The elf stood stunned, not because of the creature's mimicry, but because of the clothing that the creature had chosen for its chameleonic imitation… it was an exact replica of the uniform that Cerdan had worn back during the battle of Caden's Hill. How could this creature possibly know…?

The doppelganger grinned again, then leaped through the mirror-portal, vanishing into the darkness of the cavern beyond.

A loud crash forced the elf to turn around, just in time to see the troll sprawled out on the ground, its head driven into the sealed chamber door at the entrance of the room, creating a large cracked indentation in the wood. Dace sported a large welt on the side of his face, and some of the hair on the right side of his scalp had been torn out, leaving a trickle of blood running down over his ear.

"Where is the other one?!" he growled, breathing hard as if almost out of breath. In his left hand was the mercenary's dagger, stained with a thick, dark-coloured fluid of some kind.

Cerdan pointed over to the mirror-portal, which still remained open to the shadowy cavern. "He created a gateway to somewhere, but I'm not sure I like how convenient it all–"

Knocking the rogue aside, the mercenary raced forward and went through the mirror, brazenly seeking the escaped enemy. The elf immediately stepped forward intending to pursue, but mere seconds after the mercenary had passed beyond, the mirror pane began to flash with a blinding white light, forcing the elf to halt and cover his eyes.

After three pulses, the image of the cave interior dissolved and the mirror abruptly shattered into tiny shards that fell out of the stand and pattered to the floor, eventually leaving behind nothing but an empty frame. Cerdan stood silently and surveyed the scene for a moment, then rubbed the back of his head once more. He'd just lost his only lead, but at least he now had a better idea of what Cyrael and the deva's co-conspirators were doing…

A loud banging suddenly sounded from the other side of the door outside. "Duke Ryloch? Open the door, we heard a loud commotion coming from your room, and we've brought a squadron of guards for your protection. Are you alright?"

The elf swallowed and let the chamber pot fall to the floor with a dull 'clunk'. Glancing around, he saw that the room had no windows or visible means of escape other than the front door. "Well," he muttered aloud, "this is certainly going to turn out ugly…"

(9:11)

Everything was wet and stank of salty brine. With the dark storm clouds overhead and the fierce rain pounding her face, the young woman could barely see anything as she was pulled over the edge and onto a solid, wooden deck. Coughing and sputtering, she managed to turn over and sit upright as voices barked incomprehensible commands all around her. Wiping the hair out of her eyes, the woman saw that she was, thankfully, still alive and on the top deck of what she hoped was a more solid craft than the tiny skiff she'd been on before.

"We've got two survivors down here, captain!" shouted a nearby figure. "A few cargo containers, too!"

"Bring them to my quarters!"

The young woman squinted around at the sailors that pulled her aboard, but she didn't recognize the colours of their uniforms. "Wh-what ship is this?" she managed to get out between coughs.

A clean-shaven man in what must have been officer's attire came forward and helped the young woman get to her feet. He continued to hold her arm as he helped her walk across the wet deck. The ship continued to heave and creak violently, and the woman grabbed the man's shoulder to steady herself.

The officer leaned close as he spoke, but she still had to strain to hear him over the sounds of the storm. "What's your name, lass?"

"Nell," she yelled back, "Nell Morgan."

"Well Ms. Morgan, you're on board the Ever Dauntless, flagship of the four thrones of the Sword Coast," the officer shouted over the thunderstorm. Rain continued to blast at them from all directions, and they stumbled their way down the slippery stairs into the decks below, followed closely by a large number of sailors behind them.

"Ah, that's better," sighed the officer as they took cover from the storms above. "I'm Officer Pitt, first mate of this vessel. But you can call me Tarin." He let go of Nell's arm and pointed down the narrow wooden corridor as the other sailors squeezed past them. "The captain is on his way to his private quarters, he said he'll meet with you and the other castaway immediately."

"I'm sorry, but I had with me a black, rectangular case while I was on the skiff. Did you bring that aboard as well?"

"Uh, you'll have to check on it later, once we've sorted everything out. Tymora must be smiling down upon you, to have survived in a storm like this." The first officer continued to lead her through the ship.

Nell brushed a hand across her head, trying to shake off the lingering rainwater. "Ugh. I was on a passenger boat, but we were attacked early in the evening. Sahuagin, fish-folk… I was lucky enough to have been on the opposite side of the ship when they attacked." She coughed as a drop of seawater rolled down the back of her throat. "I managed to grab a few of my important belongings and made it to one of the skiffs just as this other passenger, a creepy-looking man, was about to cast off. I imagine the sahuagin were too busy trying to punch holes in the ship's hull to bother coming after me."

"Well, you won't need to worry about that here. Our hull is made of reinforced Tethyrian wood, built and specially enchanted to stand up against sahuagin attacks."

The officer came to a sealed, windowless door, and rapped on it three times. A voice bid them to enter, and Nell followed the first mate inside the Captain's quarters. A bald, middle-aged man with a wet, drooping grey moustache sat at the head of the table inside, speaking with a tall man with heavy scars across his face, dressed in a dark coat. Nell recognized the taller man as the other survivor from her ship.

"Take a seat," ordered the captain, wiping the moisture from his hairless scalp. As Nell sat in the nearest chair, well away from the scarred man, she noticed that a few of her suitcases were stacked on the table at the captain's right side. The woman suddenly sneezed, and she started to wonder why the captain didn't even permit her time to change into a set of dry clothes before meeting him.

"Allow me to present Ms. Nell Morgan," spoke First Officer Pitt, standing stiffly at the side of the table. "Ms. Morgan, you are in the presence of Captain Callen Masque, and Mister… ah, I'm sorry, I haven't met the other survivor yet."

"Gorven," said the scarred man, without elaborating. He didn't even pay Nell a single glance, instead focusing his attention on the captain.

Capt. Masque opened one of the suitcases and pushed it forward on the table toward the two survivors. Inside the case was a simple, wooden lute. It had evidently been sealed tight enough to keep the interior dry. "My sailors brought this in just before you two arrived. One of you owns this instrument. Who?" He cast an accusing glare at the pair of passengers.

"Uh, it's mine, sir," Nell said, raising her hand slightly. "But as glad as I am to get it back, I'm more concerned about a black, rectangular case that–"

"Are you a bard?"

The woman swallowed and felt a nervous chill for some reason, as if the captain was blaming her for something. "Well, yes, technically. But I prefer to be called an 'artist'. You see–"

"You are strictly forbidden from casting spells, bardic magic, or using _any_ magical devices while on board my ship, do you understand?" The captain sneered. "We are only a few hours away from the shoreline, but I will not make any exceptions for you. We're carrying some extremely sensitive cargo, and the slightest use of magical energy could mean destruction for us all."

"Oh, I see," she stammered. "But as I was about to explain, I'm only a bard in the sense that I'm a performer of the musical arts. I don't actually possess any magical aptitude. Even the slightest cantrip is beyond me." Nell reached forward and took her suitcase, wondering if her more valuable black case was recovered as well.

The captain nodded along, but his frown remains. "Very well, but those conditions apply for _you_ as well," he said, pointing a thick finger at Gorven. "Absolutely _no_ magic until after you've departed our company."

The scarred man gave a single, stiff nod in return.

Officer Pitt spoke up, "Our deckhands are preparing two rooms for you in case you require a quick rest before we reach shore. We don't normally accommodate passengers, you understand, so you'll be situated in the lower decks of the ship…"

"Just stay out of the cargo hold," warned Capt. Masque. "Officer Pitt, if there is nothing else, order the navigator to change our bearing to the left, back toward Waterdeep."

"Portside," Nell said.

The Captain stared at the woman, "What?"

"The nautical term you're supposed to use is 'portside', not 'left'."

"You're dismissed," the captain growled, ignoring her words. "Don't interfere with the operation of my ship."

First mate Pitt showed Nell and Gorven outside and pointed to down the corridor. "You'll find your assigned quarters on that side of the ship if you go down three floors. The sailors should have marked each of your doors with a piece of blue fabric, and they've also provided some dry clothing."

Gorven didn't wait for anything else, and immediately set off. Nell, however, lingered behind with Pitt and whispered to the officer, "I don't trust that fellow, sir. He never spoke a word to anyone, before or after the sahuagin attack. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was a criminal of some kind."

Smiling at the minstrel, Tarin shook his head, "Well, rest assured, he won't dare to try anything on _this_ ship. We're a navy vessel, the first ship to sail under the banner of the Sword Coast alliance."

"Yes, I suspected as much," Nell said, nodding along. This ship was from the naval alliance commissioned by several nobles from Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, Tethyr, and Athkatla as part of the Siron Accord, established three years ago. "I thought this naval force was made in order to _stop _sahuagin attacks."

"Well, like I said, the Ever Dauntlessis only the first alliance vessel to ever be established. Such things take time to develop, especially when there are so many different nations involved. I imagine the stress of such a high position has taken its toll on the captain as well. He hasn't really been himself ever since we left port from Baldur's Gate. Rather odd." The officer paused a moment to clear his throat. "In any case, you'd best be off to change into a set of dry clothes and get some rest. You've been through quite an ordeal, after all."

Nell nodded, but before she could move off, Tarin caught her by the arm. "One more thing, lass. In addition to the cargo hold, I will warn you _not_ to go into the rowers' hold, either."

"Why is that?"

"Well, our oarsmen are a band of indentured prisoners who were arrested down in Baldur's Gate a few months back. Believe me, Ms. Morgan, you don't want a collection of motley _barbarians _to know that we have a woman on board. Vicious savages, they are, and there's no telling what they might try if given the opportunity..."

(9:21)

Her holy symbol of Tyr felt unusually heavy as Selena turned it over in her hand. Perhaps it was a sign that her faith was wavering, or that her actions thus far had betrayed Tyr's edicts. The metallic medallion had been a gift from a friend long since departed, back around the time when she was first named a cleric in the Church of Tyr.

No, that wasn't the right way to be thinking. No use in obsessing over the past when there more immediate concerns. The Prelate would probably raise noise about her alleged 'criminal' actions, but aside from the matter with Sir Treysen during the Verskul incident, her history with the Church was spotless and the she would likely be cleared eventually.

But none of that would solve the matter with Cyrael or Caden. After all the work and precautions they had taken to secure the Sigils after the mess with Verskul, it felt shameful that she had practically handed the artifacts over to the celestial. There were still a few leads to follow up on, including Dace and Cordas' gang, but nothing solid. Of course, the lingering problem at hand was convincing the Prelate to send someone to look into the matter in the first place.

There was a knock at the door of her quarters, and Selena stood from the table as she bid the visitor to enter. The fact that they knocked first indicated that it wasn't the Prelate or one of his Royal Horsemen. Charell stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Hello, priestess. Uh, are you well?" asked the younger cleric.

The elf sighed and shrugged, releasing her holy symbol and letting it fall against her chest. "My time could be better spent on a recovery effort for the Sigils of the Fallen. I'm surprised Saudere allowed you to visit me."

"Well, he actually wants me to take an official statement from you, so he can have you taken away for holding in a local prison during the investigation."

"Ah." Selena ran a finger along her brow as she spoke. "And what do _you _think of this whole matter?"

Charell hesitated a moment before shaking her head. "I think the Prelate's judgment is a little clouded, what with the way things turned out for the Treysens. Probably looking for someone to blame." The cleric moved to the table and sat in the chair opposite the priestess. "I've known you for the greater part of my life, ever since I was a child; I know you're not the sort to suddenly throw everything away like this. So please, I'm asking you to tell me why you released the Bloodletter."

"As a confession?"

"No, as a conversation with a concerned friend."

The priestess sat down and lowered her head. "You're going to think this is foolish, but it's because of a serial killer called Kespin Larke… a man I captured decades ago."

Shaking her head again, Charell made her confusion clear on her face. "I don't know who that is."

"It happened just after I was ordained as a cleric. I was… I wasn't in my right mindset at the time, but I had taken it upon myself to put an end to a string of murders that were cropping up in the city's eastern districts." The elf glanced up toward the cleric. "Did you know that I was considered a highly skilled diviner, even for someone of my experience fifty years ago? That sort of thing leads to the flaws of youth… A little too proud, a little too confident in my abilities. Maybe I still haven't outgrown my self-righteousness." _Cerdan certainly thinks so._

She continued, "Eager as I was to please my superiors in the Church of Tyr, I called on the spirits of the deceased, and they gave me the name of the man who killed them, Kespin Larke. Simple enough, right? After that, I had no difficulty finding out Larke's patterns, and I eventually tracked him down and cornered him in one of the dead-end alleys in the market district."

"Er, what does all this have to do with the Bloodletter?"

Selena leaned forward with her hands folded, elbows touching the table. "Larke cried his innocence and wanted me to let him go, because he claimed to be hunting down a vengeful spirit that had the ability to possess different hosts whenever the previous one died. I thought he was a raving lunatic, of course, and I had him arrested on the spot." The elf's eyes turned away from Charell, as if she were seeing her memories play out before her.

"That night, the spirit entered one of the local guards, and violently murdered Larke in his cell before cutting a bloody trail through the city streets on its way out of town. Nearly three dozen people brutally murdered, and I wouldn't believe the one man who could have helped stop the monster responsible. We didn't find the spirit again until decades later, for all the good _that_ did."

"Well, you couldn't have known–"

The priestess' hand slammed down onto the table, momentarily startling the cleric. "Wrong; I'm a diviner! I _should_ have known he was telling the truth. A simple spell or two, and I might have been able to help him… all the death could have been averted, but I wouldn't see past my own self-convictions. That… changed my approach to the pursuit of justice."

"But this all happened a long time ago, don't you think it's a little much to be holding yourself to that single mistake?"

"Elves have long memories, Charell. For all the time I've lived among humans, I don't have your tendency to accept things and move on so quickly. No, it's a shame I must always bear… it's mine by right."

Charell coughed, and neither person said anything for a moment. In a gentle voice, the cleric asked, "But what about Caden the Bloodletter?"

"I couldn't put any faith in Larke, just like I didn't want to place my trust in Cerd– I mean, Caden. This whole personal crusade of the Prelate seems to be blinding him to the fact that someone is deliberately turning us against the Bloodletter.

"As much as I am loathe to admit it, I had to free the murderer… he may not be innocent like Larke, but I won't have another life on my conscience because I was too concerned with keeping afloat my own status in the temple. But if I continue to aid him, I commit a crime against the lives lost in the past. If I _don't_, I may be committing a crime against those in the future. He's connected with Cyrael somehow, but deep down I know that he's not a bad person. Maybe a little bit of an ass, though." Her right hand briefly made a fist. "...I want to hate him. He makes everything so... complicated.

"Ugh, but I suppose I can't use inexperience as an excuse this time. Fifty years after Kespin Larke, I've learned a few things about the divergence between what is lawful, what is just, and what is _right_. Maybe I just did the wrong thing for the right reasons." Selena winced slightly, as she recalled that Caden had spoken those same words earlier in the afternoon.

"So what do you intend to do now, Priestess?"

"Are you asking because you have an opinion to offer?"

Charell smiled slightly and shook her head. "I _could_ offer one, but while taking advice from others is well and good, it's not a substitute for making your _own _decision. And it sounds to me like you're already resolved to see this through in your own way."

"Hmm… that ranger, Norris, said that people are sometimes faced with the lack of a right choice. I suppose there's no clean way for me to get out of this situation." Selena absently fingering her holy symbol as Charell nodded hesitantly. Rising from her seat, the elf let out a breath and stood straight with as much dignity as she could muster. "Well, then. There's nothing more to be said. But if you're willing to indulge me, there are two things I must ask of you." She removed a small green vial from the pocket of her robe and passed it to the cleric. "See that this is fed to the foreigner I brought in earlier, the one from Kara-Tur. I imagine Norris won't be using it, after all."

"Of course, priestess. And the second thing?"

"It's time you went and informed Prelate Saudere that I'll only give my statement to him alone." The priestess tugged at the hem of her robe, straightened out the creases, and held her head high. "I think I'm ready to talk now."

(9:28)

The heavy wooden doors to Duke Ryloch's chamber finally caved in as the hinges gave out, and a squad of armed guards charged inside, weapons drawn. They were greeted by near-total darkness, as the lanterns within had apparently been extinguished earlier. The light from the hallway outside illuminated the ground immediately past the door, and the guards were met with the sight of an unconscious troll sprawled out on the carpet.

"How in the hells do you morons let a monster like _this_ get inside the building?!" bellowed the guard captain as his five men slowly fanned out, surrounding the fallen beast. "Get some torch light in here, and search the rooms for the Duke. I swear you lazy blighters will all hang if something–"

One of the lanterns hanging in the hallway outside suddenly went out, creating a shroud of darkness in the corridor. A moment later, there was a tearing sound from outside, like fabric was being ripped apart.

"Halt! Who's out there?"

The guard captain aimed his pike forward and carefully stepped out of the room. Suddenly, a figure surged from the shadows at the guard's left, and a blue banner was thrown over the officer's head. A moment later, the captain felt a heavy object slammed down over his head and heard the sound of glass breaking. The top of the sheet suddenly felt extremely hot. He immediately dropped his weapon and flailed around with his arms waving about, yanking the cloth standard away when he caught the scent of burning oil atop his head.

The five guardsmen began shouting, but the captain suddenly felt the prick of a metal blade at his throat. He quickly dropped the burning banner and held his arms out, warning his men to stay at the ready. The flame began to grow as the banner burned, and the smoke made the captain cough briefly.

"Now let's all relax, and we can all live to see another day," said the voice of his assailant. The intruder gripped the back of the captain's head by the hair, and held the blade tightly against his neck. "All of you, slowly take a large step back into the room."

One or two of the guards did so immediately, while the others obeyed only when the captain gestured for them to follow. "What have you done with Duke Ryloch, you fiend?" demanded the captain.

"Not a thing. I'd advise you to keep an eye on the 'troll' in there… not quite as harmless as it looks." The intruder suddenly slammed his foot against the back of the captain's knee and his leg caved. The captain then felt himself being shoved forward, and he crashed into the rest of his guards, who had to quickly lower weapons or aim them out of the way to avoid spearing him.

Hearing the sound of light footsteps sprinting away down the corridor, the captain immediately waved toward his men. "Go, pursue him! Don't let him get out of the district."

A number of the lanterns further down the hallway were suddenly knocked to the floor as the assailant passed, causing a fire to spread across the palace's carpet. A few of the guards stopped or stumbled as the flames sprang up, and the captain could only make a pair of fists as he got up off the ground. "Morons," he muttered under his breath, "shows just how lax the 'city's finest' are becoming."

The captain turned and looked back inside the chamber as a sixth guard hurried past after the others. A furrow appeared on the captain's brow as he surveyed the inside of the Duke's quarters. Oddly enough, the unconscious troll had vanished from the room…

(9:32)

"Where is the blasted privy on this cursed vessel?" Nell mumbled aloud as she staggered down the narrow, rocking corridor. "Damn those shipwrights. It's like some people expect me to go a full twenty-four hours without taking a leak." She shuddered at the thought of having to go back up on deck in the middle of the storm just to take her business.

She suddenly lost her balance as the ship violently shifted upon the waves, hard enough to make the young minstrel lose her balance and stumble to the side, banging her head against a line of crates stacked against the corridor wall. Swearing incoherently, the woman had to sit down for a moment until the pulsing pain subsided, then wondered if she ought to just wait out the rest of their trip in her quarters. Thus far, life at sea wasn't agreeing with her any more than her life back in Neverwinter.

Well, at least it was almost over. Still, there was no word on whether the sailors had recovered her special black suitcase from the skiff. If it had been lost at sea in the midst of the storm… Nell narrowed her eyes at a set of double-doors down the hall. That might be the cargo hold. Even though the officers warned her not to enter that part of the ship, she just wanted to make sure her most important package was safe.

Just as she was about to shamble closer, Nell noticed the creepy-looking fellow, Gorven, emerge through the doors. The man pulled the door shut behind him and briefly glanced around, but Nell quickly ducked low behind the pile of crates. Peeking around, she watched as the man raised his arm and stared at a cube-shaped box that appeared to be made of some sort of crystal. Something inside the container was giving off a menacing glow of green light.

Even at her distance, Nell could feel a slight buzz running through the air, sending goosebumps along her skin. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't something the scarred man should have been holding. The room that Gorven just left was definitely the cargo hold… so this was a matter to be taken up with the crew of the ship.

A rumble went through the floor of the vessel without warning, and one of the crates suddenly toppled over. The wooden container crashed against the floor, and the unexpected noise startled Nell, causing her to yelp slightly as she fell backward, grabbing the wall for support.

"Someone there?" Gorven called out, slowly coming closer.

Not willing to stay and face the stranger's wrath, Nell immediately bolted away, nearly tripping as the boat continued swaying in all directions. Running through the corridors, Nell wondered why she hadn't seen any sailors around ever since Officer Pitt left her. Right now, anyone would be a greater comfort than the scarred fellow pursuing her from behind.

Sending a glance back over her shoulder, she saw that Gorven was standing back near the crates, giving her a chilling glare. The boat suddenly heaved again, and the minstrel's right foot touched ground at a bad angle. Her own momentum carried her forward, and she crashed through a door at the end of the hall, hitting the wooden floor of the room beyond.

"Ugh. What god's wrath did I earn today?" she muttered into the planks.

A large number of low murmurs and growling noises sounded from all around her. Raising her head, Nell was hit with a wave of horror as her eyes were met by at least three dozen beady yellow eyes, and just as many tusks as well.

"Orcs!" Nell scrambled to her feet, but a streak of pain shot up from her right ankle when she put her weight on that leg. Still, the fear of her current situation was enough to keep her on balance and moving backward toward the door.

The orcs were seated in rows, two on each side of the oarsmen galley, and fortunately chained by the legs to their seats. Each creature was drenched with water and gripping one of the thick, wooden poles that were connected to the ship's oars. All except the one orc immediately to Nell's left, who lashed out and seized the woman by the arm.

Shrieking loudly, she instinctively banged her fist repeatedly against the creature's dark-green wrist until the barbarian grunted and released her. The creature recoiled and held its wrist, growling and spitting in Nell's direction like a savage dog.

"Stop, Brahg," said a low, guttural voice from the opposite side of the hold. Clutching her arm, Nell took a step away from the orc and looked toward the speaker. One member of the orcs, a less robust creature with a series of red, diagonal lines painted on his chest, fixed Nell with a stare that seemed even colder than that of the other orcs in the room.

His lower jaw jutted out slightly, exposing a row of jagged yellow teeth, but he spoke Common in a relatively clear voice. "He has not seen a woman in some time, human. He is very upset, as you can tell." The other orcs in the room quieted down as this particular orc spoke, leading Nell to assume that he was their leader. His speech had a distinct slur to it, no doubt from the shape of his jaw, but he spoke with surprising clarity and diction, especially for an orc. "You are not with the sailors? No, of course not. You did not board the ship with the others. So who are you, woman?"

Nell said nothing and reached backward for the door handle, keeping her eyes on the monsters in the room.

The orc persisted, even as she moved away. "I am Gartok, leader and speaker for my tribe. Or it's remnants. Before you go, you should hear me out. The captain of this vessel is not what he–"

The door suddenly opened and someone grabbed Nell by the shoulder. The minstrel whirled around, and let out a sigh of relief when she saw that it was the first mate, Pitt. "That's enough, Gartok," he said. "You don't want the other members of your tribe to fall in any more trouble than they already have, do you?" The orc chieftain grimaced, but went into a brooding silence. The other barbarians did the same, each one now focusing their hateful eyes at the ship's first officer.

Ignoring the creatures, Tarin Pitt gently took the woman by the arm and led her outside, guiding her in the direction of her quarters. "I did warn you not to walk in on our barbarian prisoners, Ms. Morgan."

"Orcs… they're _orcs_," she whispered, still holding her arm where Brahg had grabbed her.

"Yes. Vile things, aren't they, lass? How did you end up in there, anyway?"

"I-I was looking for one of my–" Nell stopped as she suddenly remembered Gorven's theft. "Wait, that scarred vagabond who came aboard with me… he stole something from your cargo hold! A glowy box of some kind."

Tarin's eyes suddenly went wide, and his face took on a serious expression. "I see. Thank you for telling me, lass. The captain gave me explicit orders to keep the ship's cargo safe; I don't know much about it, save that it's a highly dangerous artifact of some kind that could place this entire ship at risk. I'll have to inform him of this immediately. For your own protection, then, I'd advise you to stay in your quarters until we arrive at shore and sort this whole matter out."

Nell nodded and let the subject drop as she returned to her quarters. Locking the door behind her, she quickly settled down on the stiff mattress and took a deep breath, hoping to get a short nap in before they made landfall. All the while, the boat continued to heave as thunder rolled by outside. In the back of her mind, Nell had the strangest fear that she wouldn't be getting much rest throughout the night.

(9:40)

"How long do you intend to drag this out, priestess?" asked the High Prelate. "I grow weary of these increasingly insolent conversations with you."

Selena glanced between the two Royal Horsemen who had been guarding the door outside. They were now standing silently on either side of the Prelate, as if they thought she actually posed a serious threat to him. "What do you hope to gain from this?" she said. "Is this vengeful crusade of yours really about justice?"

"Of course it is. All I'm concerned with is the Bloodletter; you are nothing more than a peripheral concern, an example of weakness in the moral fibre of this temple and city. If you can't see the righteousness of my cause, then you clearly have a divergent view of justice."

"Clearly." The elf reached for her holy symbol and ran her fingers over the etched design.

The Prelate stepped around the table, slowly circling the priestess. "Perhaps you do not understand just how much sway I carry in the Church of Tyr. While I may not be able to have you formally charged for criminal actions, I am still the highest ranking faithful in this entire city at the moment." He paused and leaned in close to her ear. "So I can have you stripped of your title and ejected from practicing your faith at this temple, if you do not tell me how and where I can find the Bloodletter."

"I can't do that, sir. What you intend for Caden can't possibly be a just cause. My apologies, but I will have no part in apprehending this man if you're going to simply have him killed without due procedure."

Saudere's lips curled as he returned to where he was originally standing, between the two Royal Horsemen. "I take it that is your official statement, then. So be it; you will be taken to one of the local prisons for incarceration until further notice. I imagine there is nothing left to be said, unless you have some more forked words to add?"

Selena let her eyes close and exhaled. Evidently, there was no graceful way out of this. "In fact, I do: _amandil ithil'quessir_!"

"Eh? What did you sa-"

A blast of yellow light erupted from the priestess' holy symbol of Tyr, enveloping the entire area in front of her. Saudere and his guards were too slow in averting their gaze, and immediately found their bodies locked in position, as if their own flesh had betrayed them. The flash of light cleared quickly, but the magical blast had rendered the three men completely immobile.

Selena calmly opened her eyes again and left her chair. "This paralysis spell will wear off soon enough," she said, stepping closer to the Prelate. "But long enough for me to leave the tower without incident." The Prelate's eyes were still moving, but quickly settled on the priestess. No doubt he was currently thinking all manner of curses at her. Regardless, she kept her voice neutral, unwilling to let go of her tone of formality. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, Prelate, but it is my duty to do what is _right_, even if it means going against the law and your personal perceived notion of 'justice'."

Taking a step back, Selena held up her holy symbol. "I realize that I will be forevermore be unwelcome here in the temple, perhaps even the city, and that I may never again answer to the formal title of priestess, but make no mistake Prelate…" She raised her amulet high for the Prelate to see. "No one will _ever_ take my _faith _away from me. Not the Church, not Caden, and not you. I am and forever shall be a loyal faithful of Tyr, even if I must do so alone and without the support of the Order." She lowered the holy symbol and tucked it safely beneath her robe. "Farewell, High Prelate, I wish we could have met under more stable circumstances. I expect that you will not see me again." With that, the elf offered a deep bow and then went to remove the key from the belt on one of the Royal Horsemen.

In a short while, Selena had the door unlocked and stepped out into the hallway. Glancing about to make sure no one was around in the corridor, she quickly locked the door behind her and tossed the key in a potted plant nearby. Taking a deep breath to calm herself after what she'd just done, the priestess glanced up at a banner that hung from the ceiling overhead, sporting the scales of justice, Tyr's sign.

The elven woman lowered her head and whispered a quick prayer, then pulled her sleeve back and touched the silver bracelet she had put on her wrist a few hours ago. Closing her eyes, she focused on the magic within the artifact and felt a tingle run through her body and over her clothes. Although her eyes remained closed, she found that she could now see straight through her eyelids. Moreover, she was no longer able see her own body, as if it had turned to air.

Satisfied that the bracelet's invisibility spell would hold for at least a few minutes, the elf quickly made her way toward the tower's main staircase. Now that she had the means to leave the building, her next move would be to track down the deviant celestial and the stolen Sigils. While she wasn't particularly thrilled by the notion, the priestess knew that she was going to need help for that.

(9:47)

"This one can't possibly be the Bloodletter," muttered the red-armoured man as he roughly grabbed Dace by the chin, turning the mercenary's head from side to side. "Lenthyrr said he was supposed to be one of her people."

Duke Ryloch – or rather, the doppelganger posing as the Duke – made a 'tsk' sound and ran a finger along the rough wall of the tiny cavern, wiping some soot off. In his other hand was a burning torch, the sole source of light in the room. "I'm not _that_ blind, Pryus. It was this human's companion that I meant to capture… I didn't think this one would escape my fellow shifter."

Though he couldn't see very well in the darkness of the room, Dace spat in the general direction of Pryus' boot as the armoured man stepped back. Tugging on the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles to the cave wall, the mercenary took a moment to gauge the situation. The chill of the room probably meant they were underground. He'd clearly made a brash mistake by charging through the mirror in pursuit of the doppelganger, but at least they hadn't decided to kill him yet. Of the two captors, the red-armoured man was clearly the greater threat. While the other doppelganger back at the Ducal Palace could imitate raw physical strength, it clearly lacked the ability to copy a creature's resilience to injury. It only took a well-placed blow to the head to knock out the doppelganger-troll.

This 'Pryus', however, had an air of vigour about him. His skin was tinged a slight shade of red and felt unusually brittle when he touched Dace's face. Even stranger was the slight burning feeling that lingered on the mercenary's chin on the spot where the man had grabbed him. Perhaps the blood of a devil or fiend flowed in his veins.

"Neither of you were to take any unplanned action against the Bloodletter without my leave to do so," Echoed a new voice from the entrance of the cavern as the source of the light appeared. Cyrael stood at the cave opening, accompanied by a shorter hooded figure at his side. In the darkness of the cavern, the celestial's skin seemed to exude an otherworldly glow of white light, which illuminated the area surrounding him. The celestial adjusted the collar of his white coat as he stepped close to the prisoner. "So the blackheart lives. It is a tragic state of the world where men of evil survive, yet good souls perish so easily."

"He may be of use to us, Cyrael," said Ryloch. "If we were to use him as bait…"

"Only a fool could possibly mistake a predator for bait, doppelganger. No, he must be removed before he causes any further damage. Sintag!" At the celestial's command, the hooded figure straightened and stood at attention. "Bring this human out to the sewer tunnels and kill him."

Sintag pulled his sleeves up and tossed his hood back, revealing a completely bald scalp and one of the most ravaged faces Dace had ever seen. It took every fibre of his self-control to keep from recoiling. The mercenary saw that every part of the man's face was covered in thick red welts and blackened scars. Even his ears had been torn off, leaving dark red patches in their place. He bore so many marks of mutilation that his visage would likely make even a self-flagellating follower of Loviatar wince in discomfort.

Nonetheless, the freak didn't show any discomfort, despite the freshness of some of his wounds. That meant he was either resistant to pain or under the influence of something to dull the sensation. Judging by the amount of muscle on his forearms, Dace had a feeling it would be the former. _Probably an enforcer_, thought Dace, so the scarred freak would likely need to be taken out first, if the mercenary wanted a clear strike at any of the others.

"It shall be done, my saviour!" the scarred man shouted to Cyrael with animated zeal. "In your name, I will bind a rope to his wrists and suspend this heathen over a pit of rats. Then I shall slowly lower him, inch by inch, so that he may feel the rodents' bites over every part of his body before he finally meets the just punishment for his sins!" Sintag began to laugh at his own words. "And as the beasts are feasting upon his flesh, I will abandon him to his fate, confident that he cannot possibly return to hinder us!"

For a moment, no one said a word as the scarred acolyte stood proudly, holding a perverse grin on his face. Pryus spoke in a sharp growl, "Don't be so addled, you maniac. Slit his throat and dump him in a pile of offal."

"And make certain he's dead. We lack the time for any further complications," Cyrael added as the madman began to remove Dace from the wall. "And this one deserves death more than any of the others we have faced thus far. The blackest of hearts deserves no less."

Dace suppressed a smile. They were sending him off _alone_ with a half-crazed fanatic. Things were starting to slide in the mercenary's favour…

(9:52)

"Boring, boring, boring…" Villet murmured to himself, tossing a small chisel in the air. When High Prelate Saudere said he had a special task for the young acolyte, the boy imagined it would be something fun for a change. Instead, here he was crouched in an empty, dimly lit stall of the stables just outside the Tower of Tyr, with nothing more than the pick and a large bucket of yellow paint to entertain himself.

Writing amusing body limericks on the wall lost its appeal rather quickly when he could barely even read his own work without any decent lighting. He couldn't even begin to imagine why the old man wanted him to watch for the priestess when she was safely locked away in her room.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a scraping sound from near the door. Peeking over the side of the stall, he saw the stable doors open wide, as if on their own accord. The acolyte was about to stand and investigate when he noticed a translucent shape as the dust on the ground kicked up. Squinting, Villet could barely make out what appeared to be the bottom of a pair of boots and a robe, all but invisible to his eyes.

Listening carefully, the boy could hear a step of footsteps crossing the stable floor toward one of the horses, in a pen nearest to the entrance. The mare snorted loudly as its saddle appeared to float off the nearby hook and settle into place atop its back.

The acolyte's suspicions were confirmed as the unseen person suddenly materialized, their invisibility apparently wearing off. Priestess Shademoor quickly mounted the horse, and directed the steed to take her out of the stables. Villet waited until she was out the door, then grabbed the sole torch from near the door and hurried after the elf.

On the ground, the boy could make out a distinct trail of footprints left by the priestess' horse in the dirt, but he knew that the trail wouldn't be nearly as visible once she hit the stone streets. Taking the chisel in one hand and hanging the bucket of paint off his opposite arm, the boy swiftly stabbed a tiny crack in the base of the pail. A slow, steady drip formed, and the bright paint began to leave fat yellow dots the ground. Confident that the paint trail would work, Villet quickly raced off after the elf, quite pleased that the stuck-up priestess would be taken down off her high horse in due time.

(9:56)

"Damned ocean…"

Her stomach felt as if it had been turned upside-down inside her gut. As the Ever Dauntless continued to tread through the waters of the Sea of Swords, the violent swaying seemed to intensify. It probably would have felt calmer if the vessel was a ship in a bottle being shaken up by a wayward child. A shiver ran up Nell's legs, and she lamented the fact that quarters were right at the edge of the ship.

There was a flicker of light from outside the window, followed a few seconds later by a resonating blast of thunder. The violent noise struck just as the shutters to her window suddenly creaked ajar. The winds didn't relent either, and the pane blew wide open, making an annoying clattering noise as it smacked repeatedly against the wooden wall.

"That's it," the minstrel muttered, swinging her feet out of the cot. "From now on, I travel only by horseback. I'll be lucky if I make the attendance at this rate. And I'd bless my soul if I even manage to stay awake through the whole audition." Of course, all that was moot if she ended up having to play that damned lute rather than her violin; hopefully the sailors recovered her black case in which the prized instrument was stored. If not, she might as well lie down in the mud and become a borderline vagrant, like all the other bards in the Realms. No, she had to prove that she was better and above the rest of the warbling mob… she was an _artist_.

She crossed the room and began to close the window shutters, hoping to block the sounds of the storm for a semblance of peace before they reached Waterdeep. The lantern hanging nearby rocked slightly as she began to pull the window closed.

A wet, scaled arm burst into the room from outside the window and seized Nell by the wrist. A disturbingly familiar phlegmatic growl came from the creature that was clinging to the hull in the dark just outside the window. Instantly, the young minstrel was stricken with cold shock as she found herself staring into the fierce, piranha-like features of a green-scaled sahuagin invader.

**(10:00 PM)**


	18. The Last Bastion

**The Last Bastion**

**(10:00 PM)**

Shrieking as loudly as her tender voice would allow, the young minstrel unsuccessfully tried to pull her arm away from the aquatic beast. The worst part was that nobody would hear her over the rumbling from the rolling thunder overhead. The sahuagin fish-man open its toothy maw and let out a sharp hissing noise, sending a few drops of ice-cold spittle flying into Nell's face.

Flailing her arm around to no avail, Nell used her free hand to snatch the lantern from the ceiling hook beside the window and swung it forward overhand, smashing the glass over the creature's head as it struggled to climb further inside her cabin.

As the glass broke, a coat of flaming oil splashed out over the sahuagin's head, prompting the creature to release the woman and start smacking its own scaly scalp to put out the fire. The frantic actions were enough to make the monster slip and lose its hold on the side of the hull, and Nell watched as the hissing invader fell back from the window into the rain, before disappearing below the surface of the waves.

Nell stuck her head out the cabin window briefly, just as a bolt of lightning struck the waters in the distance. In that brief flash of illumination, the minstrel saw to her horror that there were at least a _dozen _other sahuagin warriors latched onto different spots on the outside of the ship's hull. The closest one seemed to notice her and slowly began to crawl across the hull toward her.

Slamming the window shut, the young woman stumbled backward and nearly fell over as she raced for the door to the corridor. She had to warn the sailors before the invaders managed to –

A loud ringing noise pierced the air, coming from the top deck. From all around, Nell could hear the distant shouts and battle cries of the sailors, as they no doubt began to engage the ship's boarders. A few sailors emerged from cabins nearby and immediately ran past, each carrying a short cutlass or sabre of some kind. "We're being boarded by sahuagin! Fish-folk!" shouted a voice from up above, "To arms, men!"

Nell noticed ship's first mate hurrying toward her, and she managed to catch his attention. Tarin grabbed her by the arm and pointed in the direction of the stairs to the lower decks. "Hide down below and find somewhere safe to wait out the battle. Don't worry, if we're being attacked by sahuagin, they won't be able to breach the hull, so they'll have to first fight their way past our men before they can reach you."

Nodding quickly, Nell and the first mate parted ways, rushing off in opposite directions. As the young minstrel descended the steps toward the lower levels, she only prayed that she wasn't walking further into a trap with no escape.

(10:04)

"Ah, home sweet home," Cerdan said to himself as he approached the thieves' guildhouse. "Except for the fact that I don't actually live here, of course…"

There was no doubt that at least half a dozen hidden guild scouts had bow-sights trained on him from the darkness as he casually strolled down the street. But Tomar was the type who loved to gloat first and shoot later, so Cerdan knew the watchers would have been ordered to stay their hands, at least until after he was inside the building. Still, there was little use in causing a commotion on his arrival, so the elf instead slipped down the alleyway at the side of the building and made his way toward one of the guild's less-used side entrances.

When he was about halfway toward the door, however, it suddenly opened wide and a familiar blonde human woman stepped out onto the unpaved dirt path. Kretia's eyes widened and she halted in the doorway when she saw the elf advancing. "You're alive!" she exclaimed, "I can't believe it!"

"Evening, Kretia. Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it? How's Seff doing?" Cerdan smiled warmly and nudged past her into the guildhouse, stepping calmly as if nothing was wrong.

"He – he's up and active now, but…" she hurried after him. "Tomar has taken the title of guildmaster from you. He says–"

"Ah, that Tomar… what _won't _he say? Such a character! Even if he is a little on the witless side." The elf cast a look over his shoulder and cocked his head in the direction of the hallway. "Well, come on now. Let's go have a chat with the new, esteemed 'guildmaster'."

Tomar sounded less than chipper when Cerdan entered the guildmaster's office. Seated in the elf's old padded chair, the new guildmaster abruptly ceased his conversation with Seffron and focused his full attention on the elf. "So, you finally slipped up, did you? Good work in bringing this traitor before me, Kretia. And much sooner than I expected."

"Er, he actually came voluntarily, Tomar."

"Well, I imagine no one gave him credit for being the brightest candle in the room, anyway." Standing from behind the desk, Tomar came around to stand face to face with the elven rogue. "We know all about your dealings with the faithmongers, and this time I have actual proof of your betrayal." He snatched a creased sheet from the top of the desk and shoved it in Cerdan's face, clearly enjoying having the upper hand for once.

Keeping his tongue in check for a moment, the elf leaned back slightly and briefly scanned the message. His eyes fell on the signature scrawled at the bottom of the parchment: Lenthyrr. That name sounded oddly familiar, though he couldn't recall where he'd heard it at the moment. It wasn't particularly important anyway; he'd never seen this letter before in his life.

"Oh, of course," Cerdan said aloud, rolling his eyes as he glanced to the side at Seffron and Kretia. "Because I _always _remember to leave my incriminating evidence just lying atop my desk for all the thieves in the house to see. It's that type of sharp thinking that got me to the leadership position where I am today. Or yesterday, at any rate." He fixed his eyes on Tomar again. "Praytell, do you really expect _me _of all people to fall for your planted lies?"

"It wasn't on your desk, it was in the secret stash underneath your chair. Kretia showed me where it was after you abandoned your charge to prance around with that red-haired woman, your precious Lenthyrr."

"Mmm. That's almost a theory. But the fact is that you're probably as bad a detective as I am, for not seeing the truth."

"And what truth would that be?" asked Tomar, folding his arms.

Cerdan began to slowly pace back and forth, letting his hands dance around in the air as he spoke. "There _is_ a traitor in the guild, but it isn't me. In fact, the person we've been looking for is right here in this very room." With a quick dart of his right hand, Cerdan suddenly grabbed Kretia by the wrist and then swept his foot against the back of her leg, driving her down to one knee. Wasting no time, the elf snatched the dagger from the sheath on her belt and held it up against her neck.

"Guards!" Tomar shouted instantly. He started fumbling for his own blade, but Seffron stepped in and moved between the current and former guildmasters.

"Cerdan, you can't be serious. I didn't think you'd betray us, but now you come and blame Kretia? Why would you possibly expect us to believe that she's working for the agents of Tyr?"

"Not the Church of Tyr, a celestial named Cyrael. Long story, and I'm too annoyed to bother telling the whole thing." Cerdan looked the blonde woman in the eye. "But it was you all along. _You _were the only other person who knew where Seffron would be this morning, so you arranged to have him shot by a sniper. You've been subtly pushing Tomar and I at each other's throats these past few months. If you knew where my hidden vault was, you probably planted that false letter, too. And just a few minutes ago, you said 'you're alive!' when you saw me. Not 'you're here' or 'you've returned'; you expected that Cyrael or this Lenthyrr person would kill me. Not to mention the fact that, as the guild's head assassin, you're the person in the best position to leak the movements of our enforcers and agents through the city."

Tomar snorted loudly. "Do you expect us to just swallow all that? None of what you just said proves a thing. Far as I can tell, either one of you could have betrayed us, but I'm certain it was you."

"Yes, but the difference between the two of us is that I _know_ I'm not a traitor. Tell me, did you have our guild cleric perform a divination on that message?"

"He doesn't have divining spells, he's used most of his magic for healing today, and you know it."

"Actually, he's been stealing most of his spells today from that red-haired woman – whose name is Selena, by the way, not Lenthyrr – who just happens to be the best diviner I know. Have our guild cleric cast a simple divining spell or two, and he'll be able to tell you that I never even touched this letter before today, whereas Kretia probably wrote the whole damn thing herself." He released his hold on Kretia, and pushed her down on the floor. The woman had remained oddly silent throughout the entire exchange, which left the elf suspicious as to what she was planning.

Before the others could offer a retort, the door to the office flew open and Bryn barged inside. "Guildmaster!"

"What is it?" Cerdan and Tomar asked simultaneously.

"Uh…" The boy glanced between the two for a moment, then settled on Cerdan first. "There's a piece of news for each of you, actually. Cerdan, Priestess Shademoor is here to see you. She's waiting outside, around the back."

"Again?" Cerdan asked, "She just can't seem to leave me alone, even when she hates me to the bone. I'm just that great."

"…And guildmaster Tomar, our scouts have spotted another band of armoured knights entering the district, only this time they're making a direct line for our guildhouse."

"What?!" Kretia shouted as she began to stand. Cerdan pressed the point of the dagger against the back of her neck to keep her in place.

The guildmaster thrust a finger at the elf. "You. You led them here!"

"Would you please get a new tune for once? You know, Kretia was trying to slip out the side entrance when I arrived here."

Seffron shook his head, "I can't believe that she would turn against us."

"Bryn," said Kretia, speaking above the others. "Are you certain they're coming here?"

"Pretty sure. By the path they're taking, they're definitely coming after us, unless they have some problem with that fish store down at the far end of the street."

"Then it seems my time here is done. Farewell to you all," Kretia replied. She suddenly shouted a string of syllables, and a flash of light erupted from her body, sending Cerdan reeling backward. The light cleared in a few moments and, predictably enough, she was gone.

After a few seconds of stunned quiet, Cerdan suddenly let out a sharp laugh. "Ha! Absolution! I just love it whenever I get to say 'I told you so'!"

"Oh, shut up, elf. This doesn't prove–"

"I think it does well enough, Tomar." Cerdan said with a pointed stare. "See? This is why you should always listen to me."

Seffron merely stared at the spot where Kretia had been and shook his head sadly.

Bryn cleared his throat. "Uh, sirs? The approaching squadron of knights?"

Growling under his breath, Tomar tossed his hands in the air. "Fine, we'll put aside this matter of your apparent defection, until after we've resolved this current problem."

Moving around behind the desk, Cerdan pushed the chair out of the way and opened his secret compartment in the floor. "I think you mean, after _you've_ resolved it." The elf rummaged through a number of old documents and knickknacks, and removed some gemstones and a few slips of paper, pocketing them as he went on. "After all, Tomar, you're the guildmaster. So go on, master your guild, because I'm out."

"What, you're just packing up and leaving us with this mess?" Seffron exclaimed.

Tomar planted his hands on the desk and loomed forward, looking down at the former guildmaster. "If you think this is going to make your problems disappear, elf, you're mistaken."

"Well, it seems we _all_ have so much on our plates right now," said the elf as he closed the compartment and stood up. "Even if you do manage to weather this problem, you're also going to have to deal with our guild bosses, the Shades. They won't look too kindly on your little rebellion to steal power from me, especially when the _real _guild traitor was supporting your uprising."

"If you think I'll just stand back and let you slide out of here…"

A slight smirk formed on Cerdan's lips as he took a sheathed rapier down from its mount on the wall. "Please. We both know that you're no fighter. And no offense, Seffron, but you wouldn't stand a chance against me in armed combat. By the way, where are those guards you called for earlier? Dereliction of duty is a sign of poor management, you know." He strapped the weapon to his side and tugged it snugly into place. Feeling ever so full of himself, the elf strode past the two guild members and caught Bryn by the ear, dragging the protesting boy after him as Tomar continued to glower.

"Don't think you'll ever be welcomed here again, elf. You're just a thief, and a craven one at that. No one will accept you as a friend from now on. You've just abandoned your last bastion."

"Then it's a lucky thing that I'm so skilled at hiding. Believe me, Tomar, I've been running from enemies much more powerful than you, and for a very long time." Cerdan tipped an imaginary hat and gave an apologetic nod to Seffron. "I'm sorry about Kretia, Seff. Don't feel bad, though, she really wasn't your type anyway." With that said, the elf walked out bold as brass, knowing full well that he probably would never see either guild member again.

"Jackass," muttered someone as Cerdan closed the door behind him.

(10:14)

"So why'd you come back?" asked Bryn, following the elf as they made their way toward one of the guild's back entrances.

"The real question is, why did _you_ come back here when I explicitly told you to stay away?"

"Uh…" The boy scratched his head and shifted his shoulders slightly. "Well, there was this first bunch of knights patrolling the district earlier today, and I thought the higher-ups might want to catch wind of it, you know?"

Cerdan sighed and rolled his eyes. "Things aren't going to be very pleasant around here any time soon. Now that I'm out, there's going to be a pretty strong shift of power as Tomar cracks down on anyone who wasn't loyal to him. That includes you." The elf paused and turned to face the kid. "You ought to go back to your father in Waterdeep. Probably should have sent you packing months ago, really."

"What, alone? Where are you going?"

"I have my own loose ends that need to be either tied up or tied down." The elf drew two small pieces of paper from his pocket and passed them to the boy. "Here are two tickets for a ship out of the city to Waterdeep. The captain owes me a few favours, and I happen to know that he's in port right now. Trust me, a fight with the knights is no way for a bright lad like yourself to perish."

"Uh… okay. But what's the second one for?"

"See for yourself," Cerdan said, pointing ahead.

Near the door leading out to the street stood a young girl, roughly the same age as Bryn, standing against the wall and holding a familiar grey cat in her arms. Cerdan stopped before the door to lightly scratch the feline on the neck, and it let out a mew of indifference. "You can keep Jinx, too. If things keep going the way they have, I'll probably end up dead or crippled soon. Then I won't be in any condition to feed him, which he'd find annoying. Besides, I think he likes Linde here."

The girl passed the cat to Bryn, and stared at the boat ticket in puzzlement as he handed it to her in exchange. Cerdan repeated what he said earlier by gesturing out some quick hand signs to Linde, and then reached for the door handle.

"So that's it?" Bryn asked, just as Cerdan was about to leave them. "You're just up and running away from all this and sending us two off on our own?"

"It wouldn't be the first time for me. Besides, your father is a bitter old cripple with a growing grudge against me; I owe him at least _some_ peace of mind after all that I've been through with him, and so do you. So go home, boy. No one survives into their elder years by picking pockets in a grimy corner of the city like this."

"You're giving up on the life pretty quick."

"It was a nice diversion for a decade or three, but to be honest with you, kid, I wasn't born a thief and I probably won't die a thief. Same goes for you, you know."

Bryn frowned but grunted a quiet 'okay', leaving the elf satisfied that the two kids would be on their way out of the city before daybreak. Turning away from the pair, Cerdan opened the door and stepped out of the guildhouse into the dry, dusty street. Squinting around through the moonlight, he saw that Selena waited a few metres away, standing beside another marked warhorse of Tyr, much as she had done earlier in the day. Except this time, her arms were folded over her chest and she was fixing the rogue with a stare that could freeze a dragon's breath.

With a nonchalant wave, Cerdan stepped closer to the redhead. "Back again, I see. Perhaps you've returned to haul me away to jail again? Or maybe you've softened your bull-headed judgment over my past actions?"

"Don't assume that my coming here is a sign of forgiveness," snapped the elven woman, holding her ground like a sentinel. "The only reason for my coming here is because I'm positive that _you_ are at the centre of this whole mess, whether you know it or not. Someone has been raising whispers about your past to ignite the High Prelate's inner fire, and I want to know how Caden the Bloodletter is connected with the missing Sigils. As of now, you're just a means to an end as we search for Cyrael."

"I see. 'We' meaning you, me, and the small army you brought traipsing into the neighbourhood a few minutes ago?"

"Army? What are you on about?"

"A whole big squad of knights marched into the district a little while after you arrived!" Bryn piped up from behind Cerdan, back at the doorway.

Cerdan watched Selena's face, and saw a genuine look of confusion. He noticed a few months back that the movement of the woman's eyebrows was the key to reading her; she really wasn't very good at hiding what she was feeling, despite what she believed. On top of that, she was by far one of the worst liars he'd ever met. Much unlike himself.

She shook her head, "I didn't lead them to this place. I… resigned my position at the temple. I suppose I'm an ordinary cleric of Tyr once more."

"Maybe someone's been following you, and they summoned the rest," said the boy.

Waving a dismissive hand at the boy, Cerdan shouted, "And maybe _you _should mind your own business and get out of town like I told you." Bryn frowned at them for a moment, but closed the door and Cerdan heard it lock behind him.

He turned his attention back to the red-haired elf. "So, you gave up your priesthood for me? That's a pretty drastic flip, especially for someone so staunch. I had no idea I was so important to you, I'm touched."

"Don't be ridiculous. I did what was necessary to extract myself from the Prelate's obsessive hunt for you. If there _is_ a squadron of knights coming, they're not going to stop until they find you. There is a greater plan at work here."

Cerdan snorted. "Considering how Cyrael jerked us around on strings like puppets, I'm hardly surprised."

"No, that isn't what I mean. I'm talking about this entire journey, from Caden's Hill to today. I need to believe that the powers that be have brought us to this point for a reason, and that by helping you I'm somehow carrying out Tyr's will." She added under her breath, "I have to keep faith in this."

She mounted her horse and then held out a hand to block Cerdan's approach. "You're not riding with me this time. Follow by foot, for all I care. Just be sure my fellow faithful don't catch up, or the Prelate will have you executed on the spot."

He tilted his head to the side slightly and crossed his arms. "So where to now, oh wise one? I have a few ideas. We could check the shipping warehouses over on the other side of town, assuming of course that my delicate elven feet can carry me."

"Why? What do you know?"

"I made a detour after you set me loose from the temple. Turns out one of our esteemed Dukes of Baldur's Gate was replaced by a shapeshifter of some kind, one who is working out of Cyrael's pocket, no less. Apparently the celestial had him steal some sort of wild magic artifact and it's currently on a boat for Waterdeep." He paused to rub his chin. "I didn't get much out of him before he scurried through that gilded mirror, though..."

"Putting aside the no doubt illegal issue of how you even managed to acquire this information, what could we possibly do at the docks if the lead has already left harbour? Surely there must be a more solid path." When she said this, Cerdan merely shrugged and leaned his head forward ever so slightly, staring at the former priestess expectantly. She obviously had something to add, hopefully a better idea than his own half-arsed plan. Selena continued, "You said he went through a gilded mirror? One made of gold, with angular symbols etched into different points along the frame?"

"That's right. I saw him touch a sequence that turned the pane into a portal, but it shattered after our good man Dace barrelled on through, with all the subtlety of a bull in heat I might add."

"Typical. In any case, I recall seeing a gilded mirror like that back when we were searching the upper floor of Cordas' brothel. If you can recall the sequence…"

He clapped his hands in a single beat and advanced on the woman's horse. "Say no more, we're off. But it _would_ be a mite faster if we could share your mount…"

"Stop it," she said, tugging on the reins to move a few steps away from the rogue. "You just don't understand it, do you? After all this time betraying my trust by hiding your secret, you expect me to simply forget everything and follow along quietly like a good girl? No, I'm not helping you anymore; _you _are helping _me_. Gods know you owe it to the world after what you've done."

Cerdan felt a lump form in his throat, and he watched as the cleric began to ride her horse down the street. The rogue had to step along at a brisk pace to keep up. "Hm. By the way, you ever hear that old saying, 'You're cute when you're angry'? Well, it's not true. At all."

"Oh, shut up."

(10:21)

It felt shameful to Nell, cowering there in the corner of the closet and clutching nothing but an old mop for protection, but it was far better than the alternatives. In some ways, it was like she was a child again, clinging to her sheets for fear of the monsters hiding under her bed or just outside her room. Except of course that in this case the monsters were real and trying to slaughter the sailors of the Ever Dauntless somewhere overhead.

Still, she would only be a nuisance in a fight, unless the combatants preferred a bit of background music as they struggled. The entire ship heaved once more, this time violently enough to knock a metal pail off a shelf overhead, nearly striking the woman in the head. Ever since the invaders appeared, the ship seemed to be rocking around even worse than on her previous vessel. Whenever a wave that knocked against the boat, Nell had to brace herself against the walls, fearing that the next strike might be the one to capsize the ship.

"… to try escaping now, fool!" shouted a muffled voice from the hallway outside.

Nell heard the fast thumping of footsteps briefly pass by the door, followed by another set a few seconds later. Mustering up the courage to move, Nell peeked through the round window in the door, bracing her arm against the handle in case someone or something attempted to force its way inside.

Squinting through the glass, she could see two humans hurrying down the corridor, in the direction of the ship's cargo hold. Why they were down here, so far away from the fighting above was anyone's guess. Still, if they were down here as well, then she'd probably be far safer if she stayed alongside them when the sahuagin came down, otherwise the fish-folk might find her first. After checking that the narrow wooden hall was empty, Nell hurried after the two figures that had passed, mop in hand.

The minstrel managed to catch the side of the cargo hold door before it swung shut, and slowly entered the cramped room full of crates and barrels. Just behind one pyramid stack of boxes, Nell spotted the two who had passed her moments ago. Sprawled out upon the ground was Gorven, the silent passenger, while Captain Masque stood over the man, holding in one hand a crystal box that gave off a green glow. No doubt it was the artifact Gorven stole from this very room a mere hour past.

Far more alarming, however, was the fact that the captain's other hand had somehow become disproportionately large and clawed, like that of a grey-skinned beast. For an instant, Nell thought it might be a giant glove of some kind, but those thoughts were dismissed when the captain flexed his fingers. Masque's arm shimmered slightly, then shifted to match the tone and muscle of his beast-hand.

"Ah, dying for nothing," growled the captain, "And to think that we would have let you live, if only you'd been a bit less nosy. Pah, another human failing." Several drops of blood fell from the tip of his claws, and Nell could see a pool of red slowly growing from beneath Gorven's body. The woman put a hand to her lips, stifling a shriek, and stepped backward as she felt herself start to tremble.

She stopped as her heel touched a crate behind her, and as the minstrel turned she saw a familiar black rectangular case atop the pile. The woman let out a slight gasp and without thinking, reached out and grabbed the container.

"You there, hold it!" shouted Masque behind her.

Nell began to run, but a sudden heave of the ship caused her feet to stumble and she tripped on the tassels of the mop she was carrying in her other hand. The captain advanced on her, not even bothering to hide or explain the freakish appearance of his arm.

"You saw, didn't you?" he said, "Damnation, I knew we should have simply left you stragglers to drown out there. Like vermin, your kind, always creeping into our presence and never granting us a moment's freedom."

"Um, w-whatever's going on here, I didn't see a thing! I – I won't tell –"

"No, you won't." The captain's entire body seemed to blur briefly, and he was suddenly replaced by a grey-skinned, yellow-eyed monster. Nell didn't quite recall the type of the creature, a something-ganger.

The beast took another two steps toward the young minstrel, but there was a slight 'fizzing' noise that suddenly echoed in the hold, and the creature suddenly froze in mid-step. Its almond-shaped eyes went wide and it's toothy jaw fell open. The monster wavered in place for a beat before toppling forward on its face, and Nell could see a dagger-shaped spike of fire sticking out from the back of the creature's neck.

When the shapeshifter hit the floor, the crystal box it had been carrying rolled forward and stopped at Nell's feet. As if she weren't frightened enough, the artifact was now glowing with an angry hue of red. A sudden roar of thunder pealed through the room, erupting not from the storm outside, but from the crystal box. The blast noise only seemed to last for an instant, and was just as quickly replaced by utter silence, save for a sharp, constant ringing in Nell's ears. When her mind cleared, she realized that she was curled up in a fetal position on the ground with her hands clamped to either side of her head.

She simply lay there for several seconds until her trembling died down. Taking a deep breath, Nell staggered to her feet and instinctively secured her black instrument case over a shoulder. If there was _any_ chance that she'd survive this trip long enough to make landfall, her violin was the one item she'd want to bring along above all else.

The crystal relic had returned to its original green glow, but that didn't set her mind at ease. With the mop in one hand, she carefully used the wooden handle to poke at the beast, staying as far from the creature's body as she could. It didn't move, and the size of the smoking wound on its neck probably meant it was dead. At least she _hoped_ it was dead, whatever it was. There was no sign of the weapon that killed him, however.

"Nggh, wild… magic," rasped a voice from beyond the dead 'captain'. Nell looked up and saw that Gorven had managed to crawl forward on his stomach. No doubt he was the one who threw that flaming dagger to save her. She had to listen carefully to hear him, as the ringing was still lingering in her ears. "Flame arrow spell was risky."

Nell slowly stepped closer, and saw that there was a handful of deep, bleeding gashes raked across the man's back. He certainly wasn't going to survive without a healer's art. "What – what _was_ that thing?!" she stammered.

Gorven coughed and a spatter of blood appeared on the ground before him. He struggled to hold his head up and weakly pointed toward the crystal artifact at her feet. "Doesn't matter, must keep it away. Find a wizard… magic shop in Waterdeep. Don't let…" The remainder of his sentence was interrupted as he clumsily reached up at his neck. The scarred man grabbed the collar of his tunic and managed to flip it up, exposing a small silver pin attached to the underside of the fabric.

Nell warily leaned closer and saw a moon-and-stars design etched into the face of the pin. The insignia of the Harpers.

"Save yourself," he continued, letting his head fall to the wooden floor. "Save the artifact… fighting stopped…" His eyes fell shut, almost as if he was falling a sleep, though Nell knew better.

Gorven's last two words brought Nell back to reality. The ringing in her ears had faded by now, and she noticed that the sounds of battle from the upper decks were starting to quiet down. If the sailors won, they weren't going to be pleased to learn that their captain was a monster in disguise.

Careful not to touch the creature's body, Nell moved toward the glowing artifact, and stared down at the cube's mesmerizing green glow. So that was why there was no spellcasting allowed on the ship. At least magic wasn't an issue for Nell herself.

Grabbing a cleaning rag from an open crate nearby, she carefully used the cloth to pick up the artifact without touching it. Part of her was instinctively telling her to drop the cursed thing and just leave, but the first mate would probably want to see it first.

"Ugh, this is something for those bloody adventurer-types to deal with," she murmured with a look of disdain, holding the crystal box away from her. "Last time I ever travel by boat. I swear, the gods hate me."

(10:32)

"Take one good look at the place, Linde," Bryn said aloud, signing out the words with his hands at the same time. Linde stood beside the boy as they stared up at the Shadow Thief guildhouse from across the street outside. "Probably won't be seeing it again."

The lanterns that hung from the buildings along the road began to sway slightly as a breeze passed through the district. Off in the distance, Bryn could hear the steady 'tromping' sounds of metallic boots approaching their position. Slinging a backpack over his shoulder and carrying a small lantern on a pole, the boy nudged Linde on the shoulder and motioned for her to follow.

The girl shifted her arms to get a better hold on Jinx, then reluctantly turned her gaze away from the guild base. Leaving the place behind was probably much harder for her, Bryn thought, considering that she had been a guild pickpocket for most of her life. Then again, he knew that most of her time there had been under Cerdan's watch, so with the elf tailing it out of the guild, there probably wasn't much reason for either of them to stick around.

"Wonder what I'll tell dad when I see him," Bryn mused aloud, casually signing as he spoke. "Bet he'll be surprised, huh? Out the blue, a – oof!"

Someone emerged from around the corner of a building as they passed and crashed directly into the boy, knocking him back a few steps as something wet splashed across his legs and the ground. Looking down, Bryn saw that there was now a splash of yellow paint splattered on his pants and shoes.

"Hey! You made me spill it!" shouted the stranger. Making a loud 'tsk' sound, Bryn grimaced and tried wiping at his legs, but only succeeded in smearing his hands with the paint. He held the pole-lantern higher, and saw that the stranger was in fact a young, cleanly dressed child, roughly the same age as the two junior guild members. Not only that, but the newcomer was also wearing a white robe marked with the symbol of Tyr on either side of the collar.

"My pants are ruined!" cried Bryn. Mumbling something under his breath, the church acolyte tried to push his way past, but was stopped as Bryn shoved him in the chest. The young thief glanced down and noticed that there was a flow of paint dripping out from the bottom of the pail in the acolyte's hands. The chain of yellow dots behind him was indication enough that _this_ kid was the person leaving a trail for the approaching knights.

"Pah, go beg for a copper and buy yourself a new pair. I don't have time for _your_ kind, so get out of my way, dirty brat!"

"Brat? How rude! I can't believe you just said that! Can you believe he just said that?" Bryn craned his head toward Linde, who had taken a large step away from the two boys. When the acolyte glanced at her as well, Bryn suddenly struck out with his fist, bopping the kid between the eyes.

The bucket of paint landed on the ground, and the acolyte toppled over backwards, audibly banging his head against the brick road. "Huh," Bryn said under his breath, rubbing his hand as the acolyte lay unmoving. "A real lightweight." He stepped closer and kneeled down to check the kid's head. There was no blood, but he'd probably have one plum of a bruise for a few weeks. "You'd think the Church would provide combat training to these kids."

Bryn raised his hands and signed out to Linde, "He'll be fine, but won't be awake for a few hours, probably. Help me move him into that alley over there. And before we go, there's something else I want to try…" The boy looked toward the bucket of yellow paint that sat on the ground nearby and smiled at what he thought was his own cleverness.

(10:36)

Making her way down the rows of cots, Charell would stop momentarily to check the condition of the more serious patients that she passed. Many of them were fellow followers of the Church of Tyr, severely injured during the day's prior chaotic events. As far as she knew, there were at least ten patients for every cleric present and far too little healing, both magical and conventional, to go around. If only the High Prelate hadn't sent away most of their faithful in pursuit of the Bloodletter… It all sounded like a waste of time, based on what the priestess had said in Caden's defense, but Charell had little time to dwell on the subject.

The woman pushed up the sleeves of her robe again and wiped the previous patient's blood from her hands. The occupant of the next bed was already bandaged and presumably stable, but he would have to remain under the care of the Church until he was strong enough to move about on his own. Charell touched the easterner's forehead, and was relieved that he didn't feel clammy or unnaturally cold.

What was the name that the priestess had used? 'Shen'? Remembering the vial that Selena had entrusted to her, the cleric brought out the thin flask from her pocket. She tilted the foreigner's head slightly and slowly, carefully dribbled the contents of the vial into Shen's mouth. Though still delirious from his blood loss, the patient was at least slightly aware of his surroundings, and he swallowed the antidote without fuss.

After waiting a few moments to make sure he showed no adverse reaction, the cleric made a mental note of his condition, and then moved on to the next patient, confident that this easterner would live to see another day.

(10:38)

The worst part was the smell. Down in the chilly dungeon beneath the criminals' hideout, Sir Rennemar could do nothing but pace his cell endlessly. It was unsettling for him to be experiencing things on this side of the bars, this feeling of unjust incarceration. Unarmed and unarmoured. The feeling of being powerless to alter your current situation, unable to _act_. Prelate Saudere often said that inactivity and laziness were the drugs of the common masses. The knight's restlessness was only staved off by knowledge that his brethren would be coming soon, to investigate his disappearance. Just as he was a creature of action, he was also a creature of discipline, and his failure to report in several hours ago would most definitely be noticed.

A door creaked open from somewhere overhead and the knight could hear footsteps coming down the spiral stairs at the other side of the room. He leaned forward against the bars of the cage for a better view as the person came into sight. It was the criminal with the ponytail, the one who had the gall to pick Rennemar's own pocket earlier in the past afternoon.

"Good evening, good knight! Up and awake," chimed the rogue, smiling like a jackal. "Your fellows seem to have figured out where we are, so it's time for you to help out your fellow man."

"Am I to be bait, you knave?"

"No, you're to be a distraction as our members take to the sewers and city backalleys. All we need to do is gag you and string you upside-down from a nearby rooftop ledge, and your friends will waste their time figuring out how to get you down, while us 'knaves' scatter to the wind." The thief put a hand on the hilt of his sword as he unlocked the cage door. "Oh, don't give me that look now. You go on living, we go on living, and in the end, isn't _that _what living is all about?"

A voice sounded from somewhere behind the thief, "For you, that question is no longer an issue." A beam of white light lanced from the shadows, striking the rogue in the side, just as he was opening the door.

Gasping in surprise and falling to the ground, the thief immediately grasped his side, which was now covered in a thick patch of frost and ice. The cell door swung open all the way, but Rennemar didn't dare to step forward, afraid that he too might catch an assassin's attack. He knew that no faithful of Tyr would make such a cowardly attack, so the unseen striker certainly wasn't one of his fellows on a rescue mission.

The outline of a figure gradually materialized in the shadows and stepped away from the wall, moving closer toward the cell. It was a blonde woman, evidently cloaked by some form of deceptive sorcery. Her eyes were focused on the fallen thief, and she paid no heed to Rennemar at the moment.

"Kretia?" whispered the thief.

The woman frowned slightly as the ponytailed rogue gaped at her. "I wish things could have turned out differently, Seffron, but I suppose that's the way of life. It is the wild rule out there, kill or die. I can't let you or the knight leave this place alive."

She then traced out a symbol in the air, and Rennemar could see the hideous sparkle of magic as a white bolt formed near the palm of her hand and shoot out, plunging deep into Seffron's chest. The knight could only watch in disgust as the rogue's body trembled slightly in its death throes before it fell limp.

_Magic_. It sounded like a curse, that it could cause such violence and destruction on the whim of some ill-disciplined hedge-wizard. Such a dangerous weapon in the hands of the wicked.

One pair of dangerous hands was suddenly moving again, and Rennemar saw the woman begin tracing out the pattern for a second spell, this time directing her attention on the knight. Seizing the opportunity, he leaped over the dead rogue and charged head on toward the murderer.

He wasn't quick enough, however, and the woman finished the gestures for her spell, sending out a spray of sparkling red mist from her hands. Sir Rennemar instinctively threw an arm up over his face, but didn't stop moving and went straight through the red cloud, slamming into the blonde woman and knocking her to the ground.

To his credit, Rennemar managed to slam the heel of his boot onto the spellcaster's hand and felt something crunch. However, the woman's screams were quickly drowned out by his own as the knight became aware of an intense, prickling pain coming from his arm. The areas of exposed skin on his left arm were turning grey, shrivelling like decayed fruit. The flesh of his hand in particular began to contract and wrinkle as if it belonged to a decomposing corpse.

There was a flash of bright yellow light from the woman on the ground as she cast another spell, but Rennemar paid no attention. He didn't notice as she teleported out, for he was far too focused on the painful horrors that the woman's black arts had ravaged upon his arm.

For him, magic truly was a curse.

(10:43)

"Who was leaving this trail for us to follow?" asked the Royal Horseman who had accompanied the squadron of knights and clerics into the merchant district. He spoke in plain words, but the restrained anger was evident in his tone.

"Uh, the High Prelate asked one of our acolytes to mark the path with this yellow paint," said the cleric, nudging at the bucket with his foot. The remainder of the paint had leaked out, forming a large puddle in the dirt. "Villet, I think."

"Then it seems your acolyte needs a harsh lesson in discipline, does it not?"

The cleric rubbed his forehead and looked up at the wall of the fish shop, upon which a short, sloppy yellow message had been written with the same paint: _Ha ha, Tyr loves goats!_

Underneath the blasphemy was a crude doodle of the face of Tyr, with goat horns and a scruff beard, as well as the word 'Bleat!' coming out of his mouth.

"Perhaps someone else stopped Villet on the way here…"

Sighing out loud, the knight moved away from the graffiti, following the trail of yellow dots back the way they came. "It doesn't matter. Our men are searching the immediate vicinity, but short of performing another sweep of the district, it seems we've done nothing but waste our time on this matter. There's no telling how far away the real criminal hideout is located." The Royal Horseman shook his head in dismay. "Another goose chase."

The knight continued, "Let the others continue their search. I must report our failure to Prelate Saudere."

Leaving the cleric to continue surveying the scene, the Royal Horseman set off back the way they came. Just as he reached the other end of the street, he paused as he heard a crashing noise and some faint shouting coming from within a windowless building nearby. He had taken a few steps closer when the doors suddenly burst open, and a young, lanky boy was thrown out into the street headfirst.

The knight jumped back as the youth struck the dirt unconscious, and he drew his sword out halfway until he noticed the large man that emerged from the building.

It was Sir Rennemar, and despite lacking his armour he was still imposing as he filled the doorway. "You there!" he shouted, cradling his left arm. "Bring your troops here and block off all exits from this building. I want every man, woman, and child inside chained and in shackles immediately! And be on your guard, they may have a magic-user among their number."

"Yes sir!" said the Royal Horseman, and he hurried back toward the end of the paint trail to regroup his squadron. Though he was glad that he wouldn't have to report failure to the High Prelate after all, he knew that it was still too soon to be feeling any relief. After all, there was still much to be done.

(10:48)

Even with his arm in a sling and a slight limp to his step, the first mate of the Ever Dauntless appeared to be well in charge of the situation. Nell could hear that the other sailors were busy on the decks above, judging by the sounds of footsteps clomping back and forth across the wood.

Tarin Pitt was currently trailing the young woman while another crewman helped to support the first mate as they walked along the unsteady corridor. "This had best be important, Ms. Morgan. You were explicitly told to avoid the cargo hold until we reached shore. Besides, whatever it is would probably be better handled by the Captain, if he's about somewhere."

"Captain Masque is actually part of the problem himself," Nell said as she pushed through the cargo doors and held them open for the injured officer.

When he passed through the threshold, Pitt's eyes fell on the grey-skinned beast lying facedown among the crates, and the man halted. "What is this?"

Nell shook her head and raised her palms. "It _was_ the Captain, or maybe just something disguised as him. He was fighting Mr. Gorven over there, in the back, but they killed each other when I came in."

"I don't understand," said the first mate, hobbling across to take a closer look at Gorven. "Just what was this passenger up to?"

The young woman stopped herself before an immediate answer could escape her lips, wondering why Tarin wasn't more concerned about the Captain. She fingered Gorven's Harper pin in her pocket, and felt the weight of the glowing cube inside the oversized jacket they had given her. "No idea, sir. He was dead by the time I reached him."

"I see." The first mate shifted his gaze back toward the grey beast as he settled down on top of a crate beside the minstrel. "This will not do at all. Crewman! Go to the brig and bring us a set of shackles, quickly."

The sailor nodded and hurried out of the cargo hold to retrieve the chains, leaving the two alone in the room with the pair of corpses.

"Do you think the creature might recover? It doesn't seem to be breathing…" Nell's hands fidgeted as her eyes remained locked on the fallen monster. Even in death, the bared teeth and perpetual scowl frozen on its face would probably have a hold on her nightmares for weeks to come.

Pitt shook his head and drew his sword in a swift motion, lightly planting the tip down against the wooden floor. "Well, one never knows what lethal, unnatural abilities these things may possess. I want to be certain of this ship's security, even if – especially if we're only a short distance from shore. On a storm-wracked eve like this, it would be easy for one to jump ship and vanish into the streets of Waterdeep." He noticed the look that Nell had turned to give him. "But I'm sure it won't come to that. Now that the sahuagin have been driven off, our men will – oh, good."

The sound of jangling metal echoed from the corridor outside, and a short while later the sailor returned with a short iron chain slung over his shoulder with a manacle attached to each end. Pitt motioned for the sailor to come closer. The first mate managed to stand up on his own, apparently using his sword to support part of his weight.

Taking the manacles from the crewman, Tarin shook the chain to let it hang straight as he held it up by one end. "Here we go, this shouldn't be difficult." Moving fluidly and without pause, the officer then leaned forward and swiftly latched the metal bond around Nell's arm, just below the wrist.

The minstrel immediately leaped from her seat and tried to move back, but the other sailor seized her free arm from behind and kept her in his unyielding grasp. "What are you doing?!"

"It's no wonder that you would never identify yourself as an adventurer," said Tarin Pitt, sliding his hand down the chain. "You're far too stupid to survive on your own, I think. Probably get slaughtered on your first venture into a rat cave."

His body blurred slightly, and morphed into a hairless, feral grey creature that looked identical to the captain's true form. He took a step closer to the terrified woman and raised a clawed hand to her face. "Now, you will tell us what happened to the Wild Source, or I will have to show you just how lethal our 'unnatural abilities' can be."

(10:53)

"This isn't going to work," murmured Selena, standing a few feet behind the rogue with her arms folded. She watched as Cerdan scratched the back of his head, holding his chin in his other hand.

Without turning around to face her, he continued touching the symbols on the frame and replied, "Ye of lacking faith. I know I can get this. Just… give me a second." His voice dropped to a mumble as he talked it over to himself. "Was it squiggly line and _then_ pointy thing, or did he touch the pointy thing twice? Maybe the code is timed?"

The former priestess sighed aloud and tapped her foot as she looked around Cordas' office, wondering if fooling around with this mirror wasn't the wisest course of action after all. Assuming that no one, faithful or thief, followed them from the Shadow Thief guildhouse, they would probably remain undetected. The building was still completely vacant when they arrived, and there was nobody in the streets outside who would care if they saw a man and a woman sneak inside a brothel like this in the dead of night.

"Hold that light up, please."

Selena pursed her lips and told herself it was all in the name of justice. She raised her arm, holding the lantern higher, letting the light shine off the top of the gilded mirror frame. Cerdan was still trying to remember the correct sequence of symbols that the false Duke had touched to activate the portal, and the thief's increasing amount of casual indifference toward her had quickly grown tiresome.

And the inactivity was the worst part. Right now all she could do was stand and wait while Cerdan tinkered with the mirror. Without any other distractions beyond one former warlord-turned-thief, Selena couldn't stop thinking about how her actions throughout the day might lead to dire consequences in the future. Openly defying the upper ranks of the Church of Tyr was no small matter, after all, and using offensive magic against the Prelate would earn her an additional court-martial in some sects of Tyr.

But surely Tyr was still in support of her cause. How could that not be true?

Of course, many of the divine spells that she prepared today had mysteriously vanished from her repertoire as the day went on. Healing spells, mostly, but surely that didn't mean her patron deity was forsaking her. No, of course not. That couldn't be right. Tyr had faith in her, didn't he?

"I mean, he still _has_ faith in me," she said, correcting herself under her breath. Besides, what would she be without justice on her side?

The lantern light suddenly stopped reflecting off the mirror as the pane suddenly dissolved, revealing nothing more than a dark, windowed room beyond the portal. Narrowing her eyes at the frame, she couldn't spot any people inside, and wondered where this portal would lead them.

"Well, that's done it!" Cerdan said, looking at the frame and experimentally poking his pinkie finger through the portal. "Looks like there's no welcoming party, though. And it could very well be a trap, maybe set to wink shut and cleave us in two as we pass through the gate." He tossed a smirk back at the cleric and held out his hand. "Both at once?"

"Why?"

"Because if we're going to end up dying, it would be so much better if we did it together, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I meant why do you still expect me to trust you?" She glared at his open hand, but he didn't retract it. "I've made it abundantly clear just how badly you've abused my good faith. I've had to endure the fallout of _your _misdeeds far enough today, while you seem to just get off clean without any care for the consequences that come. All you ever seem to do is drift along like a transient, and with that stupid grin on your face."

He gave a very slight shrug of his shoulder. "I suppose you _don't _have good reason to trust me. But I know you'll believe me when I say that I don't want to bring any more misfortune upon you. I haven't been using you as a tool all these years, if that's what you're thinking. And my misdeeds are not as cleanly cut as you might think."

"Nothing you just said was comforting in the least."

"No, but it's the truth. And that's what you want from me, isn't it? Now here's one more truth: I'm not going to betray you. We both want to stop Cyrael and his friends from blowing up the city, right? Well, it's time to put your reservations aside and put your convictions to the test for once, Selena." He cocked his head toward the mirror portal. "Ready to take a leap of faith with me?"

_Maybe it's not all a matter of trust, but a matter of faith_, Selena thought as Cerdan waited for her response. He said before that he had faith in her, even if she didn't feel the same way about anyone else. They were too far along to go back now, and as far as she could tell, this mirror might be the only chance they had at finding the fallen celestial. Faith marred with blindness was always such a terrible, difficult thing. Faith in her colleagues, faith in her cause, faith in Tyr. And now Cerdan… faith in monsters.

Selena frowned to herself. Then again, personal faith was nothing if not tested in the worst of times. And perhaps the greatest faith of all came from redemption. Cerdan clearly wasn't as good as he might claim he is, as he might _think_ he is, but maybe that was a start. Whatever the case, she knew she couldn't turn her back on this.

"Fine," she said, taking his hand and stepping closer to the mirror. "But there is still trouble between us, so don't think that it ends here. I'll be keeping watch over whatever you do."

"With a face like this, who wouldn't? Shall we?"

Pausing a moment to take in a breath, Selena nodded to Cerdan, and they stepped into the portal at the same time. A moment later, the mirror's pane solidified once more and the glass shattered to pieces.

(10:58)

"Ooh, that's not good," Cerdan remarked, looking down. "I imagine it will be hard to find a replacement. And right after you quit, too."

Selena twisted around and saw that some of the folds in the back of her robe had been cleanly severed, leaving the bottom of the garment looking as if some huge beast's claw had tried to slash her legs. She brushed the fabric, checking to make sure the sealed portal hadn't cut her skin. Fortunately, her leggings were untouched as well.

"I'm not bleeding anywhere, so I suppose there's no reason for ala–" The mirror suddenly cracked and splintered, sending shards of glass showering down out from the frame. Both elves recoiled and leaped away, and watched in disappointment as the last glittery pieces of their escape route touched down on the floor.

Cerdan scratched the base of his neck and glanced around as Selena moved toward the window. "Huh. Well, hopefully we haven't been teleported too far from Cordas' hideout."

"Did it just get colder?" Selena asked as she wiped away at the fog on the window. "What's that tapping noise coming from above us?" She put her face right up to the window and peered into the distance. It was a little difficult to see past the rain, but she could plainly see the large object in the distance. Immediately, her face fell and her eyes closed. "And where did that mountain come from…" she murmured into her sleeve.

Nudging up from behind, Cerdan glanced past her out the windowpane. "Huh… so we're in Waterdeep. I haven't been here for a while."

"I've never even travelled this far from Baldur's Gate." She glanced around the empty room and held her lantern high. There were recent scuffmarks in the dust on the floor, so whoever was here must have cleared out the room in a hurry. But then why would they leave the mirror?

"So," continued Cerdan, "Two outcast elves, alone and halfway up the continent. And still no sign of Cyrael. Now what will we do?"

The cleric kneeled down on the ground near the door, and picked up a square-shaped piece of fabric that was hanging on a string off the handle. "Look at this patch. There's an elvish symbol embroidered on it." The threads on the cloth were pale and worn, practically falling apart.

"Uh, I recognize that sign," Cerdan said, looking down over her shoulder. "It's the shoulder patch of the uniforms my people wore at Caden's Hill. That rune means the word 'Remember'… If I wasn't so dense, I'd think someone was trying to tell me something."

Standing up, Selena turned the fabric over in her hand and saw a large dark splotch on the back. Blood from a war wound? After fifty years, the mark had apparently turned to a dead brown colour. "I think we're going to need some assistance before we move forward." She turned her head and met Cerdan's eyes. "Time to look up an old friend."

**(11:00 PM)**


	19. Across Waters Deep

**Across Waters Deep**

**(11:00 PM)**

Another jolt struck the Ever Dauntless, and again Nell attempted to break from her captors' grasp. Unfortunately, the shapeshifter's hand barely managed to snag the chain connecting her bound wrists, and yanked her back. He was still limping on an injured leg, but remained strong enough to keep a solid hold on the young woman.

"Stop doing that!" growled the creature that had worn the face of Tarin Pitt mere minutes ago. He cocked his head toward the door down the hall that led to the slave galley. "Pfah, even those bloody orcs in there didn't prove to be as much trouble as _this_ primate."

Nell said nothing and continued to clench her jaw as they moved a few more steps down the vessel's corridor. The feral, grey-skinned beast smacked his fellow changeling in the arm. "Hand me the key."

Pausing in the middle of the hallway, Pitt took the key from his companion and held Nell close. He then leaned one shoulder against the doorframe at the side of the hall and unlocked one of the minstrel's manacles. The creature then shrank down slightly, assuming the human form of Tarin Pitt that he had worn for most of the day, and fixed the manacle to his own wrist.

"Now don't go running off again, Ms. Morgan," he hissed in Nell's ear as he removed the key from the slot on the shackle. He pressed himself up against her body, and Nell shivered slightly, knowing that the creature wasn't even really wearing clothes. "We have a strict schedule to keep, and I won't stand for any more distract–"

Nell suddenly stamped her foot down hard and at an angle, striking the changeling in the ankle of his injured leg. Screaming aloud, Pitt started to fall toward the minstrel, and she pushed forward through the door, dragging the first mate along after her.

The weight of the shapeshifter was holding her back, however, and both of them stumbled and collapsed to the ground as a result of her attempt to break free. The beast's face struck the wooden floor of the galley and he cursed as the key came out of his grasp and flew across the room.

Glancing over her shoulder, Nell saw the other shapeshifter attempt to follow them into the room, but the large build of the creature's feral, grey-skinned form only caused him to become caught in the narrow doorframe. Some of the orc prisoners nearby grunted and growled in surprise as they watched the pair on the ground.

"Gah, idiot woman," muttered Pitt as he held his nose. "What do you think you're going to do? You have nowhere to go except overboard, and you're a fool if you think you can fight your way past our men alone."

"Sir…" shouted the shapeshifter caught in the doorway as he began to shrink down to a more human-sized form. "Those shackles I brought you, they came from this room… they use the same key."

Nell heard a click and the sound of metal chains hitting the deck. She and Pitt looked up at the same time to see one of the orcs stand free from his place in the galley and throw the key to the next prisoner.

"Brahg! Brahg! Brahg!" bellowed the lines of orcs in a chant as the huge green-skinned barbarian let out a roar and charged forward.

The shapeshifter in the doorway frantically staggered back and apparently was trying to shift to a larger form, but the orcish powerhouse collided into the creature, slamming it so hard into the opposite wall that the wood breached inward. They were fortunate that it wasn't the hull of the ship.

"No, you stupid animals!" shouted Pitt as he struggled to his feet. Brahg continued to tear into the changeling outside, and the first mate had to shout to be heard over the screams. "You're going to ruin everything!" He started to shift into his feral form, and his arm became thick enough to shatter the shackle on his wrist.

Nell immediately jumped aside as the leader of the orcs – he called himself Gartok earlier? – leaped toward them, grabbing the shapeshifter by the arms and biting the creature on the throat. There was a disgusting, wet tearing sound as Gartok yanked his head away, his mouth filled with bloodied flesh. The creature that posed as Tarin Pitt choked and gurgled while dark red ichors flowed from its open throat and stained the wooden floor planks.

As the chains and shackles continued to fall amidst ongoing cheers and shouts from the prisoners, a few other orcs emerged from their places and stalked toward Nell, who now had her back to the wall and could do nothing but stand her ground.

"Never mind that one, leave her to me! Stronger foes need to be killed!" barked Gartok, wiping the blood from his mouth and smearing it along his chest. "Death to the face-dancers!" He was met with war cries from all around as his fellow orcs began to charge out the door, in search of their new prey on the decks above.

When most of the orcs had freed themselves, Gartok turned toward Nell and took a step toward her. She flinched back and swallowed nervously, unable to find her voice.

The orc leaned close, and Nell could see the texture on the large war markings that were painted on his face. "You stay out of the way," he growled, and then moved off to join his brethren.

Nell held her head as she looked away, unwilling to risk meeting the hateful eyes of the remaining orcs in the room. "Ugh," she muttered, "what I wouldn't give to be on the streets of Waterdeep right now."

(11:11)

"Gah," Selena murmured, "what I wouldn't give to be off the streets right now."

Cerdan looked over and smiled as the cleric started to uncomfortably tug at the collar and hem of her robe. The city was certainly living up to its name, since the rainfall was coming down so hard that the cleric was completely soaked from cloth to skin, even though they'd only been outside for a short while. Her clothing wasn't thin enough to see through, though, which was a bit of a letdown for him.

"You're sure this is where he lives?" she asked.

A flash of lightning cracked across the sky as the rogue nodded and started banging his fist on the door in a steady, unchanging rhythm. Thunder pealed overhead a few seconds later, and eventually the elf heard movement coming from within the building.

The door pulled open, and a middle-aged human with a cane in one hand glowered at his visitors.

"You!" he shouted when he saw Cerdan. His eyes flared wide and a sneer flashed across his lips. "How in the piking Nine Hells did you get here?!"

"Well, it's good to see you too, Derrick, old buddy!" Cerdan chimed, stretching his arms out for a hug that was never going to come.

"What do you want?"

"I'm feeling fine, glad you asked! Good to see that some things never change, you know?" The elf continued beaming with cheer.

Derrick reached out to slam the door shut again, but Selena interposed herself between the two former guild thieves. "I'm sorry that we have to bother you so unexpectedly, Derrick, but we need your help with a major problem that threatens your city." She paused for a moment, then added, "Uh, do you remember me?"

"Of course," muttered the merchant. "The two people that I last saw on the worst day of my entire life. As I recall, I basically did _all _the work while you two did nothing except get yourselves tossed off a tower roof like pieces of trash. You'll understand if I'm not exactly thrilled at your return. Especially _him_." He jabbed a finger at Cerdan. "You _are_ aware of the time, aren't you?"

"It's the Sigils, Derrick." Selena said, "They've been stolen along with another artifact by a fallen celestial and his followers, and we think he's planning to use them in some sort of magical ritual here in Waterdeep. We wouldn't come to you like this if we weren't certain that you could aid us."

Cerdan added, "Also, we're cold and wet, so we need a fire. And you're the only guy in town we know."

The merchant 'tsked' so loudly that Cerdan could hear him over the pattering rain. Reluctantly, Derrick stepped back and let the elves come inside. "Fine. But I'm only letting you in at the cleric's request. At least _one _of you has a steady head on their shoulders." Using his walking stick for support, the human then stepped over to the front counter of his store and took a lit oil lantern that sat high atop a shelf. "Go to all that trouble to stop Verskul, only to have some other madman come and take over. There's always something…" he sighed aloud.

Closing the door behind them, Cerdan took a moment to pause by the doorway and gaze across his old friend's new pawnshop. "Nice place you've got here. Much bigger than that crummy little run-down place you used to own back in Baldur's Gate."

"Do you stock any spare robes or divination materials that I can have?" asked Selena.

The merchant pointed toward the far end of the store. "Check near the back. I have a few cleric customers who rummage through that stuff every week." The elven woman thanked him and disappeared among the stacks of antiques. Lantern in hand, Derrick hobbled over to a fireplace built into the stone walls of the store and began to stack some logs in the hearth.

Cerdan removed his soaking cloak and draped it over a chair sitting near the door. "By the way, I ought to mention that I sent Bryn on his way here just an hour ago. He'll be arriving with his friend Linde by boat in a few weeks."

A log fell from human's hands and landed on the floor with a dull 'thunk'. "Wait. What do you mean 'in a few weeks'? If you told him to come here, then why didn't you just bring him along with you? You didn't send him and that girl off on their own, did you?!"

"Oh, right. Uh, Selena and I sort of reached Waterdeep by magical accident a short while ago, and now we can't go back the way we came. Just the way things seem to go with me. And as for Bryn, he's a smart kid. You ought to give him more credit than you do. Maybe that's why he was so driven to join the Shadow Thieves. Heck, I don't know why you insist on blaming _me_ for his running away from home."

Derrick frowned and made a batting gesture with his hand. "No, we are _not _having this discussion now. Bad enough that you had to simply pop in without warning. I just hope you sent them on a vessel with a reputable captain and crew. Not one of your smuggler ships, I pray."

"Of course not. I'm actually not _that_ inept, you know, despite the impression I like to project." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "But don't tell Selena or anyone else that I said so. I like to keep the expectations people have of me at a nice, low level."

"I have to wonder why she's even travelling with you. Are you two… together?"

Cerdan shifted his shoulders slightly. "Well, maybe there _was_ some chance of that before today. But no, I'm fairly certain I won't be bouncing between her sheets any time soon."

"Please, don't _ever _use a phrase like that again." Wincing slightly, Derrick just shook his head as he carefully lit the logs in the fireplace. "So what's this new problem the two of you are pursuing?"

"Well, it's a rather long story. Right now Selena needs to perform a divination on a bloodied badge we found. It'll probably lead us to the place where the celestial, Cyrael, is planning to use the Sigils. Of course, it's also undoubtedly a trap, so it might be wise to plan for a few minutes _before _we head out instead of charging in, for a change."

"Fine, you can fill me in on the rest while the cleric is performing her spell. I just hope you don't expect me to do anything crazy this time. I'm not very eager to have my other leg crushed today. And I hope you plan to pay for that bottle of wine you keep eyeing on the mantlepiece behind me."

"Sorry, I just realized that I haven't eaten or drunk anything for the better part of the day." Cerdan was painfully aware of the pit of hunger in his stomach. "Anyway, we should probably prepare something while Selena does her magic. And do you have an accurate map of the city? I should find the city's temple of Tyr and maybe contact the local city guard, assuming they're not all after my head here in Waterdeep like they are back home. What I wouldn't give for an armed rabble right now."

(11:21)

_I'd give anything to be away from this armed rabble_, Nell thought as she peeked out into the empty corridor. The fighting had no doubt moved to the top deck, judging by the lack of combatants on the lower levels. A few scattered bodies littered the hallway; some were dead orcs, others belonged to shapeshifters. Was this the sort of madness that adventurers craved? If it was, then there was no wonder that healing temples never had want for business. Adventurers… nothing more than raving, bloodthirsty maniacs, the whole lot of them.

As she made her way down the bloodied hallway toward the stairs, she thought about how her entire day consisted of nothing but calamity after calamity. Sahuagin invaders, feral shapeshifters, and now rampaging orcish barbarians. Screams echoed down from the top decks, but the young woman couldn't make out which monsters were winning the fight.

She cautiously made her way up the steps, and emerged on the rain-soaked deck. The thunder and lightning of the storm's anger seemed to have lessened, but the rain was still coming down like a monsoon. Squinting through the darkness, she saw large pockets of orcs scattered out across the deck, clearly outnumbering the remaining shapeshifters. A few orcs even appeared to be fighting each other, but when one of them took a blade to the throat, it quickly reverted back to the familiar grey-toned beast that had no doubt been a member of the ship's crew less than an hour ago.

Nell staggered back as the ship lurched on the waves and saw a particularly large barbarian, the one called Brahg, throwing overboard a shapeshifter in the form of some serpent-like creature. The orc warrior turned and looked around in all directions before spotting something up in the sky. He pulled a large rusty hook off one of the ship's suspension ropes nearby, and hurled it overhand into the darkened skies above.

Seconds later, a shapechanger's body came falling from the ship's crow's nest and crashed down atop the stairwell where Nell had been standing just moments ago. The point of the hook was lodged deep in its chest, and the blood that leaked from the wound was quickly washed out along the deck by the rainfall.

The minstrel nearly fell over the side as the ship heaved again, only this time the movement was accompanied by a loud, heavy creaking noise, as if they had struck something in the water. Peering out into the darkness, Nell could barely make out a series of dark lumps in the waters ahead, staggered along the… shoreline? A beam of light flashed through the raging storm from the darkness beyond, and Nell realized that they were close enough to be spotted by a lighthouse standing on the rapidly approaching coastal reach.

Nell's eyes went wide as she looked up at the opposite end of the ship, and saw that there was nobody piloting the wheel of the vessel. And no one was rowing in the hold below, either, so the ship was moving solely by the winds and waves of the storm. The mindless barbarians were so caught up in their battle that they were going to let the Ever Dauntless crash into the rocks!

_We're moving too fast! I'm going to die_, she thought to herself. Pushing her soaked hair away from her eyes, the minstrel raced toward the pilot's wheel, doing her best to avoid colliding with any of the combatants. But even as she came closer, the ship began to tilt one last time, and there was a deafening grinding sound from underneath.

The entire floor of the vessel seemed to suddenly fall sideways, and Nell felt her feet leave the surface of the deck. For a brief moment, it felt as if she was flying gently through a sideways rain, as if everything was calm now. This feeling was quickly halted by the jarring collision brought about by the solid ground coming forward to meet her.

(11:28)

Cerdan could hear Selena returning from the back of the store, presumably done with her divination on the bloody badge they found. She emerged from behind the stacks of crates wearing a pale yellow cloak over her traveller's clothes, carrying her torn original robe in a bundle under one arm.

"I've performed the spell," she said, "and I saw a vision of a large cavern underground, not too far away from here. Whoever left this patch behind must be there right now. My magic gave me a good sense of where the location is, but I'll need to see a map if we want to pinpoint the exact – are you two _drinking_? How can you even think of imbibing alcohol at a time like this?!"

Coughing suddenly, Cerdan exchanged glances with Derrick, and both men set their tumblers down on the corners of the cloth map that lay upon the store counter. "Uh, just a little something to calm the nerves and warm the blood before we set out." He held up the bottle, "Care for some?"

"Just show me that map so we can leave. Here you go, Derrick, I believe this will cover the merchandise I used." She reached into a pouch on her belt and removed a handful of gold coins for the merchant.

"There, you see that, Cerdan?" said Derrick, "Civilized people actually pay for the things they take, they don't just leech my wine and magical goods under the banner of being 'old friends'."

Cerdan held up a pair of amulets, each adorned with a flat, purple gemstone set in a silver chain. He held one out to Selena as he smiled at the human. "Think of these as donations you're making to Tyr's cause, then. I'm working for yonder cleric now, you know. Does that make me an acolyte?"

"Gods forbid…" Selena muttered as she examined the bauble.

Cerdan pumped his arms in the air, waving his hands in exaggerated zeal. "Praise Tyr!"

"Ugh." The cleric turned to Derrick. "Does he ever stop?"

"He really doesn't. But all idiocy aside," Derrick went on, spreading out the wrinkles in the cloth map. "Those amulets are enchanted to provide some protection against physical injury, but don't go jumping off any cliffs to test their limits. I can also give you a pack or two of traveller's gear and a few magical weapons if you need them, but it won't be the most powerful stuff. My stock really isn't the best quality right now… most of my shipments have either been held back or lost due to all those recent sahuagin attacks on shipping lanes."

"Fascinating," the cleric said absently. She pointed to a spot on the map, north-east of their position. "If this map is to scale, then our goal lies underneath this region here. Derrick, this cluster of buildings on the map is coloured black, do you know what that means?"

"Dead Man's Alley. Everyone in town knows about that place. It's an old run-down neighbourhood, some say it is cursed ground. Back during the Time of Troubles, the god of the dead, Myrkul, used that area as a base for several months before he was destroyed. Not many people like to go through those parts these days; they say it's haunted. If you're heading there, you have my condolences."

"To be precise, we're heading _under_ that area. In my vision, I saw an open cavern, even deeper into the earth than the sewers. It felt like a rather unholy place. That does make sense, however, since each of the Sigils were infused with a portion of Myrkul's power before his death." Selena moved the glasses aside and folded the map neatly before tucking it away into a pocket.

"Anything else you need, or can I go get some sleep now?" Derrick asked the elves as he rubbed his eyes.

"Actually, you could go rouse us up some back-up," said Cerdan. "We don't know where the city's guard posts or temples are located in Waterdeep, so it would be grand if you could go and direct some guards or knights to come after us."

Sighing aloud, Derrick nodded and walked behind the counter. "This had better be the last time you bother me for favours. Fine, I'll talk with the local constable. Go on ahead, I'll find someone to send after you."

"You're an upstanding fellow, Derrick, even if you do have to lean on a cane to do so. Don't ever let anyone say you're a crabby old man."

"Yes, yes. If you're done mocking my life now, then kindly take your arse out of my store." Derrick reached under the counter and removed a thick cloak. Under his breath he grumbled, "Of course the fool had to pick the coldest, rainiest day of the season to crash in on me…"

Flashing a grin at Selena, who merely stood by shaking her head slightly, Cerdan grabbed his cloak from by the door and tossed it over his shoulders, ready to track down the wayward celestial once more.

(11:33)

While it wasn't the absolute worst way to wake up, Nell was understandably frightened beyond measure when she opened her eyes and found herself lying on top of a headless grey-skinned corpse. Shrieking aloud and scrambling back along the wet shoreline, kicking up sand as she crawled away, and she felt a painful shock run up her left arm whenever it moved. The injury did little to stop her from putting as much distance between her and the body as she could.

The Ever Dauntless sat on its side further down the beach, a huge jagged opening left in its hull by the rocks along the Sword Coast. The tides had washed a number of bodies out to sea, and Nell could make out a large number of crates and wet corpses bobbing along the surface. No doubt the creature she awakened to had broken her fall when she hit the ground. Of course, her seemingly good fortune didn't exactly fill the woman with glee.

The very first thing she did was pull the black violin case off of her back and carefully set it down on a dry spot of sand on the ground. She quickly opened the lid and checked the wooden instrument. A wave of relief washed over her as she found that the case had been sealed tight enough and no moisture had touched her prized possession.

A hand grabbed her by the shoulder as she staggered to her feet, and she whipped her head around to see the leader of the orcish barbarians before her. She instinctively tried to pull away, but couldn't break from the warrior's grasp.

"We escaped thanks to you, even if you didn't mean to help us," said Gartok, "So you will live. Take this." In his hand was the glowing cube, the Wild Source, which he then passed to the young minstrel. "My shaman tried to heal one of our wounded while I carried this, and this thing fired a blast of red light at him." He pointed down the beach, and Nell spotted a heap of blackened ash still smoking on the sand.

The orc continued, "The face-dancers will be sending men to search the shipwreck. You better leave before they come." With that said, the orc snorted, and turned away from the woman, heading in the direction of the forests near the shore. Other orcs from his tribe were already disappearing into the darkness of the trees, and soon Nell was left standing alone on the beach with nothing but corpses and assorted debris strewn around her.

Wincing as she experimentally shifted her left arm, Nell guessed that the bone wasn't broken, but she would need to see a healer about the sprain soon if she wanted to keep in the best shape to play her violin. After closing up her violin case and placing the strap over her good shoulder once more, Nell paused a moment to put the glowing cube away in her tunic pocket.

This was the last thing she wanted to deal with; it was just supposed to be a short trip from Neverwinter to Waterdeep for an audition at the city's conservatory of music, and now she was embroiled in some stupid scheme, like something out of a hack bard's tale. No, Nell decided she wasn't going to go any further with this than she had to. She began walking north along the shore, and thought to herself that the best option would be to leave the artifact with the authorities in the city; the lights of the city weren't that far away, and it would only be a short walk to reach the city limits.

In the distance, she could spot a scattered series of torches near the border of the town, slowly making their way toward the shipwreck. Gartok's last words to her echoed in her mind, and for a moment Nell wondered if any shapeshifters might be hidden among their number. If there was even a single one, then he might very well try to silence the last witness of what transpired on board the Ever Dauntless.

Biting her lip, Nell instead made for the forest. She would have to take a roundabout route, but it would likely be far safer for her to quietly slip into town on her own. No way was she going to let a whole mob of people see her face. Nell didn't want _this_ type of fame, and she wanted to become a target even less. All this nonsense was something better suited for those crazy adventuring-types. The only thing she wanted was to live to see tomorrow. She had already seen enough insanity for one day.

(11:37)

If there was one thing he hated about zealots, it was the fact that they never knew when to _shut up_. Dace sullenly trudged forward through the sewer tunnel as Sintag, Cyrael's scarred henchman, prodded the mercenary in the back. The only light came from the tiny slivers of moonlight that peeked through the drains overhead, and from the lone torch that the mercenary's captor carried.

"You are nothing compared to _him_," growled the zealot. "He seeks to bring a cleansing light into this world of shadows, and you are but a gnat to him. Barely even worth his attention."

"Better to be a free gnat than a mindless slug. What is your stake in this? What have you been promised by your vaunted master?"

Sintag prodded Dace sharply with a pointed wooden staff. "Take care what tone you use when speaking of him, blackheart. Yours is a cowardly type; murdering, lying, thieving humans. I, however, have been blessed with the chance to help bring about his vision of the future, and I answer his call." He paused as they approached a junction. "Take the left branch here, knave. Cyrael and his allies will bring about the final justice and punish humanity for their unearned dominance over Faerun. And I shall be his messenger, the first of many to bring his good word to those that may prove worthy of salvation."

"So you simply do whatever you are told by some pretty freak with wings, golden eyes and a warped-sounding voice? Pathetic."

The scarred man suddenly seized Dace by the hair and yanked him back a few steps, speaking with a cold tone in the mercenary's ear. "Fool. He is by far the deadliest and most unerring opponent you'll ever meet, blackheart!"

"Of course he is." Dace let out a snort, refusing to yield to this fanatical idiot. "I will remember to tell him you said that right before I kill him."

"No, you'll never get that chance, for I am going to personally see that you never draw breath again, once we reach the dumping grounds. I'm sure you'll recognize some of the other corpses there. And just to be certain that you will not pose any further threat to my lord Cyrael…"

The madman suddenly grabbed the three centre fingers on Dace's right hand and yanked backward. The fingers bent at too wide an angle, and there was a sudden, wet 'snapping' noise. The mercenary had no idea if the sound was from the bones breaking or the ligaments tearing, but he was far too busy screaming in pain to dwell on it.

"You won't be wielding a blade any time soon, blackheart. Now keep moving. The only reason I haven't slain you already is that I don't want to carry your corpse."

(11:41)

"Sewers. Why does every little expedition always involve sewers?" Cerdan wondered aloud as he and his companion splashed through the city's undercurrents. They could only see a few metres ahead in the dim lighting from the torch in his hand, but the distant echo seemed to indicate that there was still a good distance to travel.

Selena suddenly glanced over at him and blurted out, "Tell me what happened at Caden's Hill."

"Oh, sure. _Now_ you want to know all about it. Are you really that eager for me to lie to you? Or do you just want something else to hold over my head?"

The cleric made a disgusted face, but when she bent down Cerdan saw that it was because of a slimy piece of twine that had become caught in her boot. "I'm a diviner by trade, not a judge or executioner, despite how I might act sometimes. Mayhap I was being presumptuous earlier for not hearing out your side of the story, but you have my undivided attention now. It is in my nature to seek the truth. Please, tell me."

Letting out a slight, indignant snort, the rogue squinted down at the canal beside them. They were currently walking along one of the ledges that lined the sides of the tunnel and kept them a mere two feet above the black stream of city-borne filth below. There was still a great, smelly distance to travel, and Cerdan had to wonder if Selena really knew where she was leading him.

Now that he thought about it, it wasn't nearly so bad when Selena had dismissed him out of hand earlier after learning the truth of his past. A little disappointing, to be sure, but at least she didn't prod him so hard with her inquiries. Now he had to actually think about the life he left behind. A sewer channel wasn't a particularly ideal setting to tell her, either.

"They say you savagely slew your own people during that final battle," she pressed.

"Fine, fine. I'll tell you, if it will give you some small sliver of satisfaction. You never let go, do you?" Cerdan rolled his eyes and then fixed his sights on the looming blackness ahead. "First of all, let me tell you that some of things the Church told you about me is a load of half-truths and exaggerations. Your Church's war wasn't a holy crusade against evil; it was a territorial dispute and nothing more."

"I can't imagine such a terrible war brewing over 'nothing more' than a patch of land. So why were the elves trying to seize human territory, then?"

He shook his head at her. "See, you just go and assume that your side was spotless in the matter. Some human farmers in the local region outside our forests expanded their settlements a bit too close to our borders, cut down a few trees too many, and let's just say they were less than respectful of the land pacts between our people in generations past, which upset our leaders. Humans tend to have short memories, you know that?" Cerdan made a mock snapping gesture with one of his gloved hands. "Oh, of course you do. You were raised among them."

"We're not discussing _my_ history," she cut in pointedly, clearly planning to keep the conversation on track for once, "And I thought _you _were their leader. Though I must admit, in the time I've known you, you've always acted less like a warlord and more like an utter dolt."

"For your information, I only led our armed defenders, and only in the last two or three battles of the war. I owe that dubious honour to a high mortality rate among my people; when their officers are dropping like gnats, they'll promote anyone they can find that hasn't lost a limb." He glanced over and pointed to the holy symbol that hung around Selena's neck. "Your colleagues were a little eager to have a figurehead to blame after the war ended, so they slapped me with a scary nickname, and lo! The Bloodletter came into being.

"But on the other hand," Cerdan continued, "I _am _responsible for all the death at Caden's Hill, so I guess they did have a case, after all."

"You keep dancing around the main thing: I want to know what you actually did during the war."

"Oh, it started with small stuff. Poisoning the knights' water supply, drugging their horses, sabotaging their weapons and armour. You know, all the fun little things a rogue is supposed to do."

Selena's brow furrowed slightly, and with a tinge of annoyance creeping into her voice, she said, "I'm talking about the massacre at the Hill. How did you bring about the end of the war?"

Cerdan fell silent for a moment. Now she was hitting at the heart of that whole crazy mess. Part of his wondered if it might be easier to just pull another far-fetched tale out of his arse than to dwell on what really happened. But no, Selena said before that he owed her for all the trouble he had heaped upon her thus far. The least he could do was offer up the truth for once.

"Ever hear those old bardic songs about small armies overcoming amazing odds and defeating an enemy many times their size? Heroic tales of wonder and glory in battle? Well, it's all a complete load of horse dung. Suffice to say, your faithful warriors outnumbered us fingers to palm, and I knew I couldn't pull a victory out of my cap on this one; they were better supplied, better organized, and better armed.

"Through blind luck, however, we managed to capture one of the better-informed knights on the eve before the Battle of Caden's Hill. He was a young lad, real stubborn about his duty, but not such a bad sort, all things considered." The elf gave a half-smile to the former priestess. "You would have liked him, though his name escapes me after all these years. I never did find out what happened to that fellow afterward…"

He heard Selena clear her throat with a loud 'ahem', and he remembered to stay on track with the story.

"Anyway, he told us that the knights were under the impression that we had a larger army hiding in the forests. We didn't, of course, but one of your Church's higher-ups, an Inquisitor by the name of Adar Treysen, thought we posed enough of a threat to justify the use of a particularly potent weapon. A magical construct called the Heart of the… something. Uh, I think it started with a 'B'."

"The Behemoth…?" Selena offered absently, rubbing her chin in contemplation.

"That's it. Guess they told you something about that, hm?" Cerdan didn't wait for her reply and continued. "Based on what my interrogator coaxed from our special guest, I decided the best course was to sneak into the knights' camp and seize this artifact for myself."

"And you thought you could do this all by yourself?"

"I _did _tell my interrogator to send others after me, but I imagine they didn't catch word of it before the disaster struck. This was mere hours before the knights were planning to use the weapon, you see, so I went off immediately." The elf paused as they approached what looked to be the end of the sewer tunnel.

The waste water that passed through the large canal in the middle of the corridor was being diverted into a large metallic grate that blocked off the tunnel's end. Selena pointed to a section of the wall on the other side of the tunnel where a large number of bricks were missing, revealing a gaping tunnel that likely went even further down than the city's sewer system.

"We're on the wrong side of the sewage channel," she murmured.

Cerdan saw the cleric's expression turn to a look of mild disgust as she glanced down at the black slop running past them below. The channel was too wide to jump in a single bound, and knowing her, she was probably considering going all the way back and around the way they came. At least this setback apparently made her forget to keep pressing him about his past.

"Want me to carry you across? I know you probably don't want your nice new robe getting soiled so soon," Cerdan offered.

"Absolutely not." Cerdan shrugged and waited patiently as she removed her outer robe, rolled it up into a bundle, and then held it above her head. Without waiting a moment longer, she stepped down off the ledge and began wading through the filth toward the other side of the canal.

The rogue scratched his chin. "Well, you certainly are a pleasantly-shaped bag of surprises, aren't you?"

She didn't bother looking back. "Are you coming or not? I need that torchlight."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. And he splashed down, thigh-deep in the muck.

(11:47)

Even this late at night, Nell would have expected more people to be present in the district's guard station. Perhaps it was the heavy rainstorm that still raged on outside. Nell shook out the soaking blanket that she had draped over her head, and wiped the excess moisture away from her violin case as she looked around the room. The fact that the building appeared almost completely empty was disconcerting… even a single drunk lounging about would have given the scene a sense of normalcy.

Nell shook her head. All this madness with the shapechangers was making her paranoid. Then again, who could blame her? Before today, the most (the only) noteworthy thing she ever experienced was a concert where the lead pianist gave a stunning rendition of Cierenno the Prodigy's entire _Symphony of the Seven Eternal_ without a single mistake or pitfall. Now it felt like her world had been completely upended.

She let out a deep sigh. Her conservatory appointment couldn't come fast enough.

A gray-haired man was standing before the station's front desk, and he was locked in argument with the guard who stood on the opposite side. These two were the only occupants in the building that Nell could see.

The guard had an exasperated look on his face as he addressed the older man. "I'll say again, we cannot help you right now, sir, because our –"

"Because your men are busy elsewhere. Yes, you've made that abundantly clear, but I'm asking you to draw on manpower from the other guard posts in the district, or even the knightly orders!"

"Then I'd have to go myself, leaving this station unattended, sir." His jaw clenched slightly before he spoke. "I can't go off chasing alleged monsters on a single claim from an old man like yourself, so if you could hold your complaint until the morning…"

"This can't wait that long," snapped the older man, "For all we know, the city could be a pile of ruin by then!" He banged his cane against the floor a single time, then turned and began to make his way toward the exit. "Gah, you're supposed to be the city's finest. Yet you all seem to get more lazy and dull-witted every day!"

Nell quickly stepped out of the way as the man brushed past, and watched as he limped out the door, walking stick in hand. Behind her, the guard cleared his throat and she noticed that he seemed to be looking at her with a mixture of bored expectation.

"Do _you_ need something, miss?" he asked in a monotone.

"Yes, I want… um, what was that all about just now?" Nell tilted her head toward the door and pointed a thumb in the same direction.

"Oh, he's one of the local merchants here in the neighbourhood. Get this, he came in here with some fanciful story about shapeshifting monsters and angels trying to blow up the city with some magical doodads." The guard shook his head in disdain, "These delusional types, they see a crack of lightning and hear a roll of thunder, suddenly they're shouting bloody murder and filling their heads with ideas about the end of the world. You wouldn't believe the number of 'sky is falling' reports I get on nights like this. Mental illness is becoming a rather common affliction in this city, I fear."

"Um, yes, I can imagine…" Nell said absently as she looked toward the door behind her. Ordinarily, she would be in agreement with the skeptical officer, but this mention of shapeshifters and magic tools…

"Besides," he droned on, not paying much attention to the young woman, "All our able men and women have been dispatched to the south. Some ship crashed and capsized on the rocks just outside the city a short while ago." The guard finally happened to look down from his perch and look Nell in the eye. "So what do you need, miss? And I hope it's less crazy than _his _story."

"Uh, I'll be right back," Nell said as she hurried back outside into the rain. The old man who just left might be more willing to hear her out, and hopefully take the glowing cube off her hands.

She threw an arm over her head in the vain hope of keeping some of the raindrops off her face, and spotted the older man further down the street. He seemed to be making slow progress due to his limp and cane as he made his way north, deeper into the heart of the city.

Hurrying in pursuit, Nell quickly caught up with the man as he passed under a dry, covered spot beneath a nearby shop's awning. She lightly grabbed him by the shoulder. "Excuse me…"

"Stay back" the man barked as he whirled to face her. In a single stroke, he pulled on the handle of his cane, and it detached itself from the rest of the wooden shaft. It took Nell a moment before she realized that the handle was attached to a hidden sword blade, which was now pointed at her face.

"Don't think I'm such an easy mark, thief."

Nell released his shoulder and slowly stepped back, hands raised. Unlike the guard's description, this man seemed to be in full control of his senses. He didn't _look_ delusional, at least. Maybe a little paranoid, though.

"Please sir, I-I just wanted to speak to you about your report at the guard station." The man didn't lower his weapon and waited for her to continue. "And I'm really getting tired of being threatened and prodded at with sharp objects!" She said with a touch of annoyance. Nell carefully pushed the swordstick away from her face, and the man slowly relented.

"Fine, say your piece and then be on your way, girl. I have a promise to keep elsewhere."

Taking a deep breath, Nell quickly recounted for the man her tale at sea, leaving out several details to keep it succinct. It probably wasn't a satisfying recollection, but all she cared about right now was wiping her hands of the whole mess as soon as possible.

After she finished, the man's response to her story was less than encouraging to her ears. "Well, I don't rightly know what to make of this. My friend _did _mention something about doppelgangers and a shipment coming from Baldur's Gate. If you can come and tell him what you learned from the ship…"

"Uh-uh!" Nell vehemently shook her head. "Look, I don't even have a hint of what's going on, and honestly, I'd like to keep it that way." She reached into her pocket and took the glowing cube out for the merchant to see. "The only reason I'm even talking to you is so I can rid myself of this… _thing_ I took from them. Take it; it's your problem now."

He made now move to accept the volatile artifact. "Hey, I don't want to get involved in this mess, either, girl. An hour ago, they start banging on my door and drag me into this. Believe me, there's nothing I'd like more than to run… limp back home and go to sleep." The merchant sighed. "But I learned several years ago that everyone must eventually step up to face whatever destructive forces –"

"Spare me the honour and glory speech, old man. I just play the violin for a living. Please, take the blasted thing and pass it on to your friend. My part in this is done."

The man's cheek twitched. "My name is Derrick, girl, not 'old man'. And I'll have you know I'm not _that_ old."

Not that old? Nell wondered if the man had looked in a mirror in the past decade. "Whatever. Are you going to take the thing or not?"

A hand reached out and grasped the cube. Nell would have been relieved, except that it wasn't the old man's hand. The clawed hand was as dark as pitch, and the creature that had appeared beside them was nigh invisible under the shade of night. Now that she was paying attention, Nell could make out the faint outline of one of those awful, feral shapeshifters standing against the wall beside them.

Nell let out a startled yelp and yanked her arm away, tearing the cube out of the doppelganger's grasp. Derrick unsheathed his swordstick once more and thrust at the concealed beast, forcing the monster to fall back several paces. The merchant didn't move much as he attacked, and seemed to be favouring only one leg as he moved.

While his focus was drawn to the doppelganger, another figure surged forward from the shadows behind Derrick. Before Nell could shout a warning, the figure drove their boot heel into the back of Derrick's bad leg. To the minstrel's dismay, the older man went over like a log.

The shapeshifter bounded close and seized Nell by the neck when she tried to retreat from the scene. He shoved her closer toward the figure that now stood with a foot planted against Derrick's back. Up close, Bell saw that the doppelganger's comrade was a blonde woman garbed in grey leathers and a cloak.

"There, you see, Kretia?" said the shapechanger in a voice like a tired wind. "I knew following this whelp would yield the Wild Source."

"_Must_ you shout my name so freely, you idiot beast? Of all people, Lenthyrr had to match me with such a master of subtlety like you, _Ryloch_," grumbled the woman in reply.

The creature grinned and Nell shuttered at the sight of its pointed teeth. "Ha! Not my real name, human."

"Look, you don't need to do anything to us," Nell piped up. "Just take the cursed thing and leave us be!"

From the ground, Derrick managed to growl, "Stop… talking…"

The woman, Kretia, removed her foot from the prone man's back and pointed a finger at her ally. "Grab them both and move them over by the wall. I will open a portal for us to return to the site."

"We should kill them now."

"That would only leave a trail for others to follow," Kretia replied, shaking her head. "Bring them to Cyrael and Lenthyrr first, they have final say in all matters." She started to move her hand in a swirling pattern, tracing out the beginnings of a spell.

"Wait!" shouted the doppelganger, "I forgot, you can't use magic so close to the cube, too risky. For all we know, the wild surges might immolate us by chance, or worse!"

The blonde woman made a scoffing sound, but ceased her arcane gestures. "Fine, we'll take the long way. Shouldn't be too many people around in this district at this time and under such heavy rain." She pointed down the street and tilted her head.

Pulling Nell along, the doppelganger shifted his physical form to that of a hulking ogre as the young minstrel began to kick and scream bloody murder to no avail. The beast then bent down and grabbed Derrick by the waist, carrying the man along under one arm.

"Should have left the matter alone, girl," said Kretia as she came over and plucked the cube from Nell's hand. "You think we didn't have people waiting for the Ever Dauntless to arrive? Not very clever of you to wander into town alone, but you made our jobs a mite easier, at least. No need for us to sift through the shipwreck in plain sight of the city guards, when our very own unwitting delivery girl is right here!"

Nell clenched her teeth and seethed at the woman. The adventurer's life. To experience so much wonder and excitement in but a single day… how she utterly loathed it.

(11:54)

"That's far enough, knave. We are here," said Sintag, as if he thought Dace was too stupid to realize what was directly in front of him.

The path of the tunnel stopped at the opening to a large, deep circular reservoir filled with what looked and smelled like rancid sewer water. A continuous stream of black liquid poured down from a round metal grating in the wall, up near the top of the chamber.

"Do you expect me to simply jump in?" asked Dace, "I _can_ swim, you know."

"Not indefinitely. The other infidels fell prey to fatigue, you see. You may hold out longer, but given time you'll collapse just as they did." The mutilated zealot tore scrap of dark cloth from the cloak he carried over his arm, Dace's cloak, and set it aflame before tossing it down toward the surface of the water.

The burning cloth fell a few metres before hissing out atop the dark liquid below, but small light was just enough for Dace to spot several grey, bloated corpses floating near the walls of the reservoir.

"No handholds to climb out," Sintag explained, "No man-sized channels under the water to swim through. This is a chamber built in olden times, and not with human survival in mind. No less than you deserve for daring to oppose the Winged One, blackheart."

He drew from his belt the dagger he confiscated from Dace earlier in the evening. "I was instructed to be certain of the severance of your life, and I shall see my charge through."

"Yes, be a good dog and do your master's bidding. You fanatical types are all fools; allowing someone to gain dominion over you. I believe you are so blind that you strive to _earn _the right to be slaves."

"Are you prepared to die for your beliefs?"

"No, for I am not going to die, period."

The scarred man prodded Dace in the back, forcing the mercenary a few more precarious steps closer to the edge of the sewer pit. "But what is the thing that drives _you_, sinner? At least my reasons are pure. Are you a thrall to the pursuit of gold and riches?"

Dace knew he wasn't, but chose to say nothing. These fanatic types just loved to jabber on about their own righteousness, and the mercenary needed some more time if he was going to move the ropes binding his wrists. The broken bones on his right hand inflamed every movement, but he had no other course than to endure, since his survival was at stake here.

"At least I can understand why the elves choose to involve themselves. Cyrael spoke of all of you at length. The priestess has her duty. The thief has his conscience. Even the departed ranger had his personal need for justice." The zealot made Dace turn around to face the wide, expecting mouth of the pit. Sintag went on, "But what of you? I look upon you and see a man with no stake whatsoever in this entire affair. A man so pathetic that he leases his life away to whomever will pay, devoid of any honourable purpose. What do you have?"

With one last subtle shift of his hand, Dace felt the rope on his wrist slide up against the edge of his bracer. He paused a moment before replying. "You are correct. I have no personal interest in any of this, nor do I care. I am simply a man with a contract… and a blade."

Dace immediately flicked his left wrist in a backward reflex, and triggered the mechanism in his wrist bracer. The spring-loaded stiletto dagger, concealed within the seemingly normal leather band, burst out from the slot in the bracer's side and tore through the binding rope around his wrist with a loud 'snap'.

As the severed rope fell off, Dace caught the dagger in his good hand and twisted his body slightly, shifting his weight to one foot and slashing out at his captor. The scarred fanatic was quick to react, however, and was able to evade contact by leaping back.

"You erred in one thing when you shattered my fingers," growled Dace. He held his right arm out to the side, displaying the three fingers jutting out at unnatural angles. "You see, I am _left_-handed." He flipped his stiletto dagger over twice in his dominant hand.

Two hands or one, Dace knew he was infinitely better than this narrow-thinking freak. Launching himself forward, the mercenary reversed his grip on the stiletto and stabbed across at the zealot's neck, knowing that the fool would be able to block. The real purpose of the move was to close the distance between them.

Sure enough, Sintag angled his own blade and stopped Dace's stiletto in mid-strike. Dropping the torch in his other hand, Sintag lashed out and grabbed Dace's right hand, twisting two of his broken fingers. The mercenary clenched his teeth so hard that he heard a quiet 'popping' noise coming from his jaw.

The fallen torch made only a small field of illumination, leaving most of the tunnel pitch black in both directions. Dace slammed a knee up into the zealot's mid-section, and the sudden impact caused the scarred freak to lose his hold on the dagger. Sintag released his weapon, but was able to snatch Dace by the wrist, struggling to push the mercenary's stiletto blade away from his neck.

As they grappled, Dace already had the remainder of the melee charted out in his mind. Though it was almost completely dark beyond the flickering torchlight, he knew that the fight had moved them several feet from the edge of the reservoir, and that the zealot had both hands occupied.

The mercenary waited for the move. Predictably, Sintag briefly craned his neck back, preparing to smash his forehead against Dace's skull. In that instant, Dace acted. When Sintag drove his head forward, trying to bash himself against the mercenary, Dace allowed himself to _fall_ backwards and raised a leg, planting a foot on the fanatic's torso.

As Dace landed flat on his back, he took advantage of the opponent's momentum and used his hold on the zealot to _throw_ Sintag in the direction the freak was already moving. The freak went past overhead and fell down into the sewer pit behind Dace. The frustrated cry of Cyrael's henchman echoed up the reservoir chamber and was punctuated by a short splash.

Dace got off the ground and blew a wad of spittle down into the pit after the crazed zealot. Ignoring the litany of curses coming from the enemy below, Dace quickly recovered both his daggers and the torn cloak that Sintag dropped during their struggle. The maniac could drown down there, for all Dace cared.

Before leaving, Dace stepped up to the edge and peered down into the inky blackness. Part of him wanted to shout one last defiant insult at the defeated foe, but he quickly suppressed the urge. No sense in wasting words on a dead man.

"You'll never find your way back, blackheart!" screamed Sintag from the pit below. "The Winged One is immortal, he stands unopposed!"

"Pah." _Almost sounds like a challenge_. Although he didn't care that much about whatever grandiose scheme the winged creature was planning, Dace certainly wasn't going to let the earlier attempts on his own life simply slide. Cyrael had to pay for his pride.

Spite, vengeance. They were not the noblest of reasons for opposing the celestial, but Dace didn't care. They were _human_ reasons, and that was enough for him.

Turning on his heel, the mercenary set off back down the sewer tunnels, leaving Sintag behind to drown. When he next faced Cyrael, he'd have to be far more careful than before. No charging in blindly, especially now that the creature's other henchmen were aware of Dace's existence. The mercenary was nonetheless satisfied that he could come out unscathed; even so-called 'immortals' could be destroyed under the right conditions.

He let out loud snot and clenched his jaw tight. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, the mercenary firmly grabbed his broken fingers and yanked them back into position, creating a series of loud, painful 'cracking' sounds.

Groaning under his breath, Dace tried unsuccessfully to move his injured fingers, but the searing pain remained constant. He'd have to track down a healer soon, or he might end up fighting one-handed for the rest of his life.

That would probably make his inevitable battle with the false celestial a bit more difficult, but he didn't care. After so many years in confinement, he could use the challenge.

Pressing his right forearm against the flat of the blade, he slid the stiletto dagger back into the slot on his left bracer until it clicked into position. Able-handed or not, he wasn't going to let the celestial walk away freely when they still had bones to pick. Dace took up the burning torch from the ground and focused on the corridor ahead, retracing in his mind the route that would lead him back to Cyrael's lair.

Things were beginning to come together, Dace knew, and it wouldn't be long before all opposing forces collided. And there was still so much to be done before the end.

**(12:00 AM)**


	20. Faith in Monsters

**Faith in Monsters**

**(12:00 AM)**

"They have abandoned us," muttered Pryus, pacing the edge of the cavern in a circle. "Hardly unexpected, what with the number of incompetent setbacks thus far. _I_ would have cleansed myself of the matter as well, were my lair further away from this site."

The fallen celestial turned his harsh glare upon the red-armoured man. "One must have _faith_ to claim victory, Pryus. That wisdom may completely escape you, but the words are not so hopelessly lost on Lenthyrr and Sintag. My followers are loyal, for they possess what you and your followers lack: a righteous cause."

Grunting in response, Pryus stopped to examine one of the dozen burning candles that were set up around the perimeter of the cave. The room had ample illumination, though it was mostly for the sake of their human associates; unlike the others, Sintag and that yellow-haired guild thief could not see well in the darkness.

The irony of their involvement didn't escape Pryus' notice; with all the complaints aired by Cyrael and Lenthyrr, it was difficult to believe that they would accept two humans among their ranks. It seemed odd enough when Verskul was brought among their number several years ago, and they all knew how badly _that_ arrangement turned out.

An intense itch ran across Pryus' palm, and he placed his hand directly into the candle flame to ease the irritation. "Save your preaching, I've no interest in your pseudo-religious babble. I was embarking on grander schemes since before you were a cherub swaddled in cloths. If anything, this all makes for an interesting diversion, and little else." Pryus had no doubt that, despite the airs the celestial put on, Cyrael was still nothing more than another would-be conqueror. The red-armoured man had seen those types rise and fall countless times over the centuries, and truly doubted that this one would end up any different.

Still, their plans in Baldur's Gate had already led to a success for the red warrior. With the Church and Shadow Thieves at each other's throats, he was now free to gain a stronger foothold for his operations in the southern city. Cordas and his gang were small-time crooks, and far too unruly to be depended on for too long. It was for the best that they spent the past day destroying themselves, leaving fresh ground to sow upon; it saved Pryus the trouble of weeding them out himself.

"Your greatest fault," replied the celestial, "is that you treat this entire quest as if it was a business. Both you and the doppelganger act only to strengthen yourselves, rather than the world at large. Some day, that will be your undoing." Cyrael turned away from the red warrior and returned to his praying before the large shrine at the centre of the room. The statue that stood atop the altar was in the form of a robed woman, with a pair of flaming wings sprouting from her back. Her stone hands were pressed together as if in prayer, quite similar to Cyrael's current pose. "You're unable to see beyond the next pile of coin or the next politician in your pocket… you're just as bad as humanity for embracing their excesses in life."

"Bah, they're cattle, nothing more. Good for brief amusement between the decades…and again, I might even say the same of our little conspiracy here. It was well enough for an entertaining distraction these past few years, but I won't hold high expectations. But I _do_ expect you and your underlings to be punctual and competent, at the very least."

As soon as he finished, a black-cloaked being stepped around him and into his line of sight. Impressive that she could so without alerting his ears.

"Ah, so you've finally returned," Pryus said to Lenthyrr. No doubt she was skulking about, waiting for a dramatic moment before entering.

Without even the decency to offer Pryus a response, the woman glided past and took her place before Cyrael, just beside the statue of the flame-winged angel. Cyrael maintained his pose and kept his eyes closed. "Have you yet recovered the Behemoth's Heart?"

Reaching into the folds of her sleeves, Lenthyrr drew a chunk of dark crystal, the colour of dried blood. "It was no challenge to procure; the Elsina estate was rather simple to penetrate. The loss of their precious secret project will leave a few nobles quite upset, I foresee, but they'll not come after us any time soon. They would likely be imprisoned for life, should the Lords of Waterdeep learn of what they were attempting to create."

Cyrael took the crystal artifact from Lenthyrr, and Pryus noticed a faint glint of light reflecting off the stone from the nearest candle. In the right light, the crystal almost looked like a jagged ruby.

"Almost poetic justice, would you not say," Lenthyrr said, casting a glazed stare at Pryus, "that we should unleash humanity's diabolical magic against their own kind?"

Pryus thought she might actually be smiling when she said that, but it was hard to tell with her face almost completely concealed by the collar and hood of her cloak. Again, she was probably waiting for a dramatic time before revealing herself, even though Pryus and the others already knew how she looked. No, she was undoubtedly waiting for _him_ to arrive… It was nauseating how she was so utterly deluded with the theatrics and grandeur of her perception of things. She probably saw herself as the lead character in some heroic epic. The fool.

Lenthyrr ran a pale hand along the edge of the statue's wings. "'Tis almost a tragedy that such a finely crafted work should languish in this place, so far from sun and sight. I wonder how long it would have stood unseen had we not sought it out?"

"If you're so obsessed with art, then go find a gallery and ogle the figures until your eyes bleed out," Pryus muttered, "_I _am more concerned with the power this carved stone will provide us… _if _Ryloch's men can actually deliver the Wild Source without some calamity befalling them."

"No faith in our cause," snapped the woman, "Yet you remain at our side and nip at our heels with your complaints. If the outcome is so ill-fated, why persist in dogging us?"

He shrugged at the woman. "A small price to pay when immortality is the prize." Pryus looked toward Cyrael from the corner of his eye. Their leader was still deep in prayer before the flame-winged statue. Celestial or not, Cyrael was the key to everything. And after everything Pryus had contributed to their mission so far, the armoured man believed he was prepared for anyone who sought to disrupt their plan. It would take an army of knights to down him, and soon even that fact would be rendered moot.

_Immortality_, Pryus thought as he gazed up at the stone angel. _Yes, the most valuable opportunities always involved great risk_. Another hour of waiting was a small price for existence eternal.

(12:10)

"Well? Aren't you going to share the rest of your story?"

"Nope!" Cerdan chimed, pointing the torch down the sloping cavern passage. The tunnel felt low and uneven, forcing both elves to stoop and keep a hand against the rough wall for support. Balance wasn't too much of an issue for him, but he knew Selena would probably have trouble keeping up if he bounded on ahead. He mixed a hint of mockery in his voice, "Besides, wouldn't want to upset your delicate sensibilities right before the storm, would we? Normally I like a little inquisitiveness in a girl, but even you tend to grate a little."

He heard her scoff behind him. "Fine words coming from _you_ of all people. Do you know what your greatest problem is?"

"No, I prefer to remain ignorant of my self-flaws. I find arrogance to be so much more pleasant and reassuring." Before Selena could cut in again, Cerdan cast a smirk over his shoulder. "But I'm confident I know what _yours_ is."

"Right now, my greatest problem is _you_."

He let out a single humourless snort. "Funny. With wit like that, you should have joined the carnival instead of the convent."

"Convents are meant to help people with wicked ways." She gave the rogue a piercing look, and Cerdan turned away and focused on the passage ahead.

The rogue went on, "Well, _your _greatest problem is that you're too stiff and proud, unyielding. Makes you ignorant."

At this, he heard Selena laugh. "You're hardly a font of wisdom yourself. I'm at least more enlightened than someone of your element."

"Oh, I've no doubt that you could cite each of the zillion-odd holy tenets and doctrines of your god, but can you name your favourite painter? Or the last tavern song that made you cry? You told me once that you've never travelled beyond the territory of Baldur's Gate. You're an expert in all things Tyr-related, but admit it; your cloistered life has made you blind to so many other things."

There was a sudden scraping noise from behind. Cerdan paused a moment and looked again to see that Selena had stopped and was glaring. "Let me see if I have this: You're accusing me of being shut off from the world because I haven't spent enough time ogling pretty pictures or taken enough vacations? Ludicrous. If there's a single person who is the least qualified to _judge_ me, it's _you_. And if you think my devotion to Tyr derives _ignorance _of all things, then you're truly clueless as to the meaning of faith."

Cerdan shook his head slightly as he continued on. _So naive…_

"Moreover, at least I'm a true and responsible person," the cleric persisted. "You act like you know so much about me, yet I know almost nothing about _you_, beyond a long list of disasters and criminal charges." A short tentative pause, and Cerdan could feel the tension in the air as they moved. "You never answered my question from before. Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me who you really are?"

"You never answered mine: why haven't you told me who _you_ are?" Cerdan didn't bother turning to face her this time. She was probably pursing her lips and running a finger over her eyebrow like she always did when frustrated. When it became clear that Selena wasn't going to blurt out her real name, Cerdan filled in the silence. "Just one big cycle of distrust between us, isn't it?"

"I can see a light up ahead." She pointed at a very faint glow that was visible at the far end of the tunnel. "Keep quiet until we know exactly where Cyrael and his conspirators are hiding."

"Hm." _Convenient for you_, thought Cerdan. _Now who's dodging the subject?_

(12:21)

"You should let the girl go," said the cripple as they stumbled on through the sewer tunnel. "All you need is the cube, right? She can't possibly know or do anything that could hurt you; she's just extra weight to you."

Ryloch shifted his appearance from the Duke of Baldur's Gate to his natural feral form. Clearly, the human had no idea what he spoke of. "Oh, but she _already _hurt us. Because of her, many of my brethren lay strewn across the southern shores, bodies mangled and our true faces exposed. Now, only I and my agent back in Baldur's Gate remain to carry on our mission."

"But I didn't kill them!" the young woman protested.

"Then it is simply coincidence that _you_ happen to be the sole survivor of the shipwreck? And in possession of the Wild Source, no less!" The doppelganger bared his teeth and looked over at the minstrel. "Did you already forget what happened?"

"Would that I could," she replied. Nell shifted her shoulders and adjusted the black case that hung on her back. "The mere sight of you… monsters is enough to drive a person half-mad."

"Monsters?" echoed Ryloch, "We're simply products of the world we inhabit."

"You murder people and steal their faces!"

"Just as _your _kind hunts us down like animals, when we are clearly so much more than you primates. It is not _our_ fault if your kind is so wont to take for granted the nature of identity." Lenthyrr was giving him a harsh glare, but the doppelganger wasn't going to relent. The words kept falling from his mouth. "All of you so content that you are unique among your species, 'special'. But you don't deserve it. So easy to trick and manipulate. The face-dancers will change all that. _We_ know that a face, eyes, mouth and all, is just another mask, a tool to be used by those with the will. All that your society has built will inevitably pass to my kind. Immortality will aid me greatly in that respect…"

"That's enough," said Kretia. "We're not finished yet, and while I have little concern for your personal goals, I don't want you prematurely divulging Lenthyrr's plan."

Ryloch snorted and shifted his form once more, assuming the look of the young woman, Nell. "I wonder how you'd fare in a fight against yourself? No doubt I could play you better than you could." He changed his small pink hand into its natural clawed form. "As much as I'd enjoy testing that theory, we near the site. And only Cyrael can pass judgment on your life."

Smiling widely, the doppelganger enjoyed seeing a shudder run through the minstrel. Being so close to the start of the ritual, Ryloch knew that Cyrael would order these two dead, but Kretia wanted to hear it directly from the celestial's lips. No matter, he was satisfied that these humans would be dealt with soon enough.

(12:30)

"Ugh, not nearly enough light…" Cerdan muttered as he peered through the spyglass with one eye. "Our wayward celestial is standing there at the middle in front of a statue. Some human warrior is pacing the chamber, and there's someone in a cloak down there. Sure. With any good conspiracy these days, you just _have_ to have someone in a mysterious cloak." The elf lowered the spyglass and held it out. "You want to take a peek?"

"No." Cerdan looked back and realized that Selena was standing several metres back, well away from the ledge that overlooked the deep cavern.

"Uh, something bothering you, Selena?" Perhaps the ledge was too high up from the ground for the cleric?

She swallowed and shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it… perhaps we should wait for the backup Derrick promised he'd send."

Resuming his observation through Derrick's telescope, Cerdan said, "Well, I don't think that plan's going to work. Several reasons." He raised a hand and began counting off. "One, I don't think the city guard will be able to find this place. When you told me it was underground, I thought you meant an indoor cellar or basement. Two, this isn't a problem we can overcome with manpower. If Cyrael and his buddies are as empowered as we think, it'll be more effective to use guile over sheer force. And three… I think Cyrael's followers just brought Derrick into the chamber at blade-point."

"What?" Selena inched closer to the edge, and tried to lean forward, but stopped herself before looking too far. "Why would he be here?"

"No clue. But one of the people holding him is Kretia, my ex-guild lieutenant. I also see two identical young women with them… twins? Hard to see."

"So what is our best course right now?"

Cerdan lowered the spyglass. Right now, the enemies gathered below were locked in a heated argument of some sort. He was too far up to hear their words or read any lips, but judging by the way they were pointing back and forth at Derrick and one of the girls, they weren't going to start their ritual immediately.

"I'll scale down the side of the cavern… the walls look rugged enough to provide good handholds." The rogue stood up and moved closer to Selena. "When I'm down, wait until they bring out one of the artifacts they're planning to use. Then I'll need you to create a distraction for me. Just something loud enough to catch their eyes and ears. Try singing, maybe. A voice like yours, and they're liable to pass out from the monotony."

"Cute," Selena said with a bland look, "And what happens when they threaten to kill Derrick unless we surrender? You're forgetting that your friend has limited escape options."

A sudden, dry laugh came from the tunnel behind them. Both elves glanced over to see Dace advancing on them with a smoking torch held in his left hand.

"Oh, so you're still alive," said Cerdan, "And here I assumed they would have cut you up and fed you to the carrion crawlers."

"They tried to kill me. They failed. More fault to them," the mercenary muttered, plainly bitter over whatever ordeals he had experienced. Cerdan noticed that the human's tunic cuffs were severely frayed, and there were splotches of dirt and blood over his face and hands.

Selena folded her arms and gave an indignant sniff. "I'm surprised you haven't thrown your lot in with the rest of them, blackheart."

Raising the stiff, unmoving fingers of his right hand, Dace snarled at the cleric. "Save your sniping for someone who would listen. My hand and wrist require adjustment and healing. Now."

"You're even worse than _he_ is," she replied, waving a finger in Cerdan's direction. "Why would I help someone like you when –"

"Stop wasting time. I know you are honour-bound to provide aid to whomever requests it of you, whether you like them or not." His voice took on a hard edge. "Carry out your duty, priestess!"

Cerdan could tell that even Selena grasped the crass irony of hearing Dace, of all people, lecture her on duty. Still stern-faced, the cleric nonetheless acceded to the mercenary's demand. "I'm out of healing magic, but I can convert one of my other spells to aid you."

"I care little. Make haste."

"Fine." She eyed Cerdan as she moved to aid the mercenary. "We shouldn't be idling here like this. They could set off the Sigils at any moment if we don't think of something."

The elf shrugged, "Eh. I'm willing to sit back and just watch how things play out for now."

"I'm getting sick of your lack of genuine concern for this matter. Would you watch all the people in this city die around you?"

Cerdan cocked his head to the side and looked toward the ceiling. "Well, they're humans. So I'm inevitably going to watch them die whether or not I step in here. There's a good four hundred years left in me, you know. That's, what, twelve human generations? Time yields a lot of dead people, and I don't have enough tears to spare for them all." Before Selena could scold him, Cerdan pointed at Dace and continued. "More to the point, even if you aren't planning to stab us repeatedly in the back, we're hardly a match for our assorted opponents."

He brushed a spot of dirt from the front of his leather jerkin. "Our trio's token human might kill one or two of them if they don't wear any magical protection, but I doubt he's skilled enough to take down the whole lot of them. I can keep myself from getting myself skewered, but little more than that. And you," he said to Selena, "well, you glare and _threaten_ up a good fight, but I think we all know that you're hardly an asset when it comes to clashing steel. Better if you stay back and cast a few spells from up here, if you can work up the nerve."

Her lip furled as she traced a glowing blue pattern in the air and seized Dace's hand. The mercenary winced slightly, but made no sound. "Every time I talk to you, I find that I know less and less about who you really are. And it's the exact opposite for how much you _think _you know about me."

"Yes, but only because you've never done anything even remotely interesting, or beyond routine. Like I said, a cloistered life you lead. Hidden away in your marble halls and all that. Won't make a very compelling set of memoirs, I tell you." Cerdan shrugged.

Dace's voice cut in, "They call elves an elder race, yet you both babble on like children. This is not a 'story time'. Cease your words."

Cerdan peered down into the cavern and saw that their enemies seemed to be questioning Derrick and the girl. At least they weren't getting violent yet. The elf said to Dace, "Oh, now, you're just saying that because you haven't heard a _good_ story yet. There's no hurry right now. Let me tell you about the time I was beaten up by a gang of skeletons…"

"No one wants to hear that stupid story," Selena hissed.

"How do you know?"

She finished her spell and released Dace's hand. "Because _I_ don't want to hear it again. Gods, you keep telling that as if it's the only thing that's ever happened to you."

"It's the most interesting."

"Like children," Dace repeated under his breath. He raised his voice a bit louder, "Assisted or not, I intend to face Cyrael." He began to make his way to where the outcropping met the cave wall.

"Okay, okay, hold on a moment," Cerdan said, waving the mercenary and Selena toward him. "You're right, for once we ought to form some faint idea of a strategy before we barrel into our undoubtedly gruesome deaths. Besides, from what I can tell, Cyrael isn't starting immediately. Maybe some key piece is missing from his ritual down there."

(12:37)

"If we have everything we need already, what are we waiting for?" demanded the dark-haired man with crimson armour. Nell could feel the tip of Kretia's sword poking into her back as the motley group of villains discussed their situation.

Right now, all eyes were turned upward slightly to the luminescent winged man whose presence stole the attention of all else in the dank cavern. From what Nell could discern through their argument so far, they were entirely prepared to use the Wild Source and some other damned artifacts for whatever insanity they were planning down here. The only contention was the involvement of two unexpected guests.

"The problem," said the winged man, "is that we have _more_ than we need. These two are unpredictable factors in our mission." In the celestial's hand was a chunk of crystal, which he set down at the feet of the room's central statue before stepping over to the old man, Derrick.

"You have an air of familiarity about you," said the celestial. "One Mr. Curaten, the unsung 'saviour' of Baldur's Gate? We took your measure a year ago as we planned for today. Truly, you pose little threat now; it is a wonder how far you've fallen, if you were somehow able to best Verskul."

"I didn't do it alone, even though it feels that way at times," said Derrick, "Nor am I alone now. Cyrael, I presume?"

Nell felt as if she was at a reunion of some kind, to which she didn't belong.

"Presume all you like, interloper," said the doppelganger, shifting his appearance to that of an elderly, clean-shaven man garbed in a wizard's apparel of voluminous red robes. "Verskul failed because he learned of our true plans, and broke rank to use the Sigils for his own ends. If anything, you saved us the trouble of having to slay him ourselves. Ha, if not for your 'bravery' against the errant mage, _our_ present victory would never have come about."

Derrick glowered at the shapechanger, apparently recognizing the creature's new form. "Verskul and his cronies were awfully quick to cry their success, just as you are."

Cyrael's voice cut through the room. "Verskul attempted to lay claim to much more than he was capable of holding. His reasons were of avarice and mere spite, and it should be clear where such motivations lead a person…" The winged man paused and turned his eyes toward Ryloch and the red warrior. "Human flaws that have diffused to other races of Faerun, both high and low. A true tragedy. In any case, I've not doubt that the Bloodletter will find his way down here, eventually." He stepped toward the statue, but halted as he looked down at the figure's stone base. "What happened to the Behemoth's Heart?"

There was a moment of confused silence, then Kretia suddenly shouted, "He's here! Seal the chamber!"

Derrick suddenly turned and struck Kretia in the throat with a backhanded fist, at the same time seizing her sword arm by the wrist. Nell's first instinct was to flee, but that option was crushed when the red warrior quickly moved to block the passage out of the cavern. While he was unarmed, the warrior wore a particularly fearsome looking suit of armour, giving him a bulky appearance, like that of a scaled hide. The man's eyes darted around the chamber, hands slightly out to the side, as if anticipating an attack. He wasn't looking at her in particular, but it was clear that Nell couldn't get past without drawing his gaze.

As Derrick and Kretia grappled against each other for the sword, Nell quickly and quietly backed up toward the cave wall. Swinging the black case off her shoulder, she crouched low on the ground and hid behind a thick stalagmite.

Perishing so far beneath the earth was a thought too horrible to imagine. Was she standing in the room that would soon be her own grave? All she could do now was take cover and hope for the best.

(12:42)

Cerdan had his back pressed up against the rough, uneven stone wall of the cave as he moved ever so slowly around the edge of the chamber toward Derrick on the opposite side of the room. The elf saw his friend smack Kretia across the face with an elbow, making her drop the sword in her hand. Not bad for a man his age, though Cerdan figured the ex-thief's heart was liable to give out amidst all this excitement.

As Cerdan continued his slow circuit, avoiding the patches of candlelight that dotted the room, he noticed Cyrael holding his ground in front of the statue in the middle. The elf felt the slight prick in his breast pocket from the oddly familiar sharp-edged gemstone he swiped from the base of the statue earlier, when all eyes were still on Derrick and that girl.

Cyrael rotated, speaking at all corners of the room. "Step into the light, Bloodletter. By now, this chamber has been sealed from the outside. There is no purpose to be served by drawing out this conflict." He suddenly thrust a warning hand to the hooded woman beside him. "No spells yet. You know what would happen."

From around celestial's neck, beneath his heavy white coat, Cyrael removed a large black amulet and then placed it atop the shoulders of the flame-winged angel statue.

_One of the Sigils_, Cerdan thought. If Cyrael was planning to set off a magical-fuelled explosion, everyone in the chamber was as good as dead. Even if someone managed to survive the initial blast from the amulet's divine energy, the sheer amount of force could bringing the cavern's ceiling together with the floor, pasting all else in-between.

But if that was Cyrael's intention, then what was the point of everything else? The 'Wild Source' Ryloch mentioned, and the crystal? On the other side of the room, Derrick slammed his forehead against Kretia's, sending her sprawling on her back. The older human snatched her sword from the ground nearby and swept his gaze about the cavern, looking for another opponent.

_Awfully spry for a cripple_, the elf said to himself. Derrick's eyes fell on the patch of darkness where Cerdan was hiding, and the elf saw his friend squint slightly. Unfortunately, someone else noticed this as well. The hooded woman beside Cyrael whipped her head around, facing Cerdan's general direction.

It was too dark to make out the woman's face, but Cerdan was certain that he'd been made. She immediately stepped closer, and the elf drew his rapier, prepared to solve this by force. The elf glanced to his right; on the far end of the room, Derrick was faced with his own problem as the doppelganger advanced on him.

_Wait for it_, Cerdan said to himself as he gingerly took a few steps back, _Any time now…_

A roar that sounded like thunder echoed through the cavern and everyone, save Cyrael who stood in silent prayer before the statue, took pause and looked toward the ceiling of the chamber. Selena stood near the edge of the outcropping that overlooked the cave, and her eyes were squeezed shut as she focused on her casting. The cleric pointed a finger to the cavern below and blindly executed her spell.

A column of blazing orange fire seemed to blast its way both up from the floor and down from the ceiling, coming hazardously close to the statue in the middle. Cyrael was ever unmoving, eyes closed as if nothing was happening around him.

While she failed to hit anything relevant with her spell, Selena's part was only meant to distract their enemies. And did it ever.

Ryloch froze, and Cerdan noticed the glowing green cube in the monster's hand. The colour immediately changed to an angry red, and the doppelganger hurled it away across the cave floor.

"Wild surge! Wild surge! Take cover!" The doppelganger suddenly shifted his form to that of a stone golem, for a thicker body, perhaps, and dived for the floor, covering his head.

The light of the red cube pulsed as if it was alive, and then began billowing several large puffs of white smoke that quickly spread out across the cavern floor. Through the mist, Cerdan could just barely see the cube shift back to its original green colour.

_A wall of fog? Not so bad as far as wild surges go_, thought Cerdan. Without waiting a moment longer, he pushed off the cavern wall and made a dash toward Cyrael. He punched the cloaked woman squarely in the back of the head with the cross-guard of his rapier as he passed, knocking her out of the way.

As the fog continued to flood the chamber from the ground up, Cerdan caught a glimpse of a black-cloaked figure on the other side of the room. As the doppelganger rose up from the floor, Dace leaped on the creature's back, blade in hand.

A clammy hand suddenly seized Cerdan by the collar of his tunic and jerked him backward with an unexpected amount of strength. Much to his surprise, it was the hooded woman that held him tightly, as if he was no more than a pet. That blow to the head should have been enough to knock her out cold.

"Your priorities are in disarray," whispered the woman. She seized his sword arm by the wrist and pointed his blade away from her, even as he tried to struggle against her. "Now turn your eyes unto the winged one… the ascension nears."

The elf noticed that the eyes of the flame-winged statue were now glowing, alit with yellow embers that looked eerily similar to Cyrael's own eyes. Holding the large black Sigil that hung from the statue's neck, the celestial remained as perfectly still as the stone sculpture before him, seemingly oblivious to everything else around him.

There was a low rumbling noise, like the grinding of rock against rock. At the same time, the Sigil became limned with white light. Struggling uselessly against his captor, Cerdan felt as helpless as a child in a parent's grasp.

On his way into this whole mess, the elf believed it would take a significant amount of casting time for the Sigil's magic to be unleashed. Three years ago, Verskul apparently had to cast his ritual for almost an hour before executing his spell. Cyrael seemed to be doing the same thing in mere minutes. And no red clouds this time.

The sounds of battle echoed from elsewhere in the foggy chamber; evidently no one else was close enough to see what Cyrael was doing now.

Small cracks appeared in the face of the statue, allowing rivulets of yellow light to pour through, creating a bright centre in the misty dark. Something inside the statue exploded, sending large broken splinters of stone flying out in all directions.

The hooded woman that restrained Cerdan immediately twisted around, so that her back would take the brunt of the jagged projectiles. She grunted slightly as the pieces struck, but didn't show any sign of pain, nor did her hold on the rogue weaken in the slightest. Since they weren't dead, Cerdan let out his breath and stopped struggling for now. After the barrage ended, Cerdan craned his head around and saw Cyrael standing directly beside the base where the statue had been.

In the sculpture's place was a young woman with long blonde hair, garbed in a scorched grey toga. Cyrael gently caught the woman as she fainted backward, and the celestial carefully brought her down and laid her against the stone, keeping her head cradled in his arm. As the celestial tilted the woman's body, Cerdan spotted a pair of skeletal protrusions between her shoulder blades, and a particularly harsh burn running down the back of the blonde woman's spine. What were in all likelihood a set of lush feathered wings at one time were now reduced to two blackened frames of charred bone.

Was this the scheme all along? It seemed rather trivial to Cerdan, that so much effort would be wasted just so Cyrael could pull a girlfriend or something out of a stone dungeon. By the amount of pain the female celestial looked to be enduring, it might have been more merciful to just leave her as a statue, unfeeling and unmoving.

Some crackling noises sounded from through the fog from where Ryloch and Dace had been. Another wild surge, perhaps, caused by Cyrael's ritual. Even with the multitude of sounds surrounding him, Cerdan could make out what the celestials were saying if he focused his ears and watched their lips.

"Your way failed," Cyrael said to her, lightly touching his hand against the soot in her hair. "As I warned it would."

She whispered back, clearly using her last bit of strength to speak. Her voice carried an odd reverberation, much like Cyrael's. "D-don't abandon all hope yet… their kind may yet… be the turning point, in the coming war."

"Yes, but in whose favour? We can no longer afford to take that risk. I stood aside as you tried your methods, as we agreed. Now the duty of our mission falls unto me. Be at rest, now. My way shall yet prove victorious, with your power at my disposal. It was ever our destiny."

With that, Cyrael made a fist and his flaming sword burst into existence, plunging straight through the woman's chest. Her eyes widened momentarily, then dimmed and fell dark as Cyrael dismissed the weapon. He laid her down upon the stone base, his blade having left a smoking blackened hole in the body.

As he took to his feet, Cyrael twitched his hand as the last traces of the flame dissipated. He lowered his head and took a moment of silence.

"What in the piking hells was that?!" Cerdan exclaimed at the top of his lungs, breaking what probably should have been an introspective moment for the celestial.

Cyrael took a breath and turned to Cerdan, acknowledging the elf's presence at last. "You will learn soon enough. Verskul's actions no doubt led you to believe the sole purpose of the Sigils was a destructive one. In truth, it is the exact opposite. We have accomplished here what was ordained by destiny. Now we turn our sights to the greater challenge." He lowered his head to the hooded woman that stood beside Cerdan. "Open the gateway while I conclude with our remaining allies."

Ignoring the pair, Cyrael turned in a slow circle and extended his arms out, palms facing up. A shiver ran down Cerdan's neck as he felt a cold breeze picking up within the chamber. The winds quickly began to grow much fiercer, until it felt like the cavern held its very own maelstrom. If not for the hooded woman restraining him, Cerdan might have been toppled over by the encircling airs.

The winds blew strong enough to carry the fog high up and away from the cave floor. As the mists lifted, Cerdan saw that all others, friend and enemy alike, were backed against the cavern walls, each holding onto a rocky outcropping or one of the sconces that stuck out from the stone. Oddly enough, all the candles lining the room remained alit, despite the strength of the summoned winds.

With the fog largely cleared, Cyrael abruptly ceased what he was doing and casually retrieved the glowing cube from the ground nearby, about halfway between the celestial and Ryloch.

"What is the meaning of this?!" cried Ryloch, who was still in the form of a stone golem. "Who is that dead woman? What of our immortality?"

"Too many questions," the celestial intoned, "and so few answers to go around."

Before the last word even left Cyrael's lips, Dace's hand went out, and Cerdan saw a metallic blur streak through the air and strike the celestial in the torso, near the heart. Cyrael fell back a single step, then seemed to recover his stance as he straightened and tore the dagger out of his chest. Much to Cerdan's surprise and dismay, there wasn't a single drop of blood staining the blade or the celestial's white garments. Instead, a golden sliver of light shone from the open gash. Cyrael closed his eyes and furrowed his brow for a moment, and the wound then sealed itself, leaving him unmarked save for a tear in his tunic.

"Thanks to you all," he intoned in his echoed voice, "I have risen to the echelon of immortal beings. As I said, it is a path paved for me by destiny."

"Planes take your blasted destiny, what of the power we were promised?" demanded Pryus. Interestingly enough, the warrior didn't appear to be having any difficulty standing against the swirling winds, as if he was somehow better grounded than the others.

"I swear, bird-man," added Ryloch, "if this is a double-cross, you'll sorely regret it!"

"Disappointment abounds, then." Cyrael began to pace backward, moving closer to Cerdan and the shrouded woman. "Many deceits I wove, as necessary. I needed your resources and manpower for a higher purpose. If anything, you are merely victims of your own avarice and ambition."

Both Ryloch and Pryus started forward, each man sporting a solid scowl on his face. Cyrael hurled Dace's knife upon the winds, letting the weapon spin through the air until it planted itself in Pryus' chest. The blow was enough for the warrior to lose his footing and topple over onto his side.

Cyrael took a final step back and pressed a hand against the hooded woman's shoulder. The woman whispered, "Word of recall, Cyrael. Now!"

The doppelganger broke into a run, changing his form mid-stride into that of a muscled panther. Claws outstretched, it pounced through the air at the trio on its final bound. Cyrael casually swiped his arm sideways, and a trail of flame appeared in the air, catching the panther in its path. The face-dancer's body reverted back to its natural monstrous form before it even struck the ground. A grey head landed an instant later and rolled across the floor, smoking slightly from the neck.

As Cyrael began muttering the beginnings of another spell, Cerdan tried stomping on the woman's foot to disrupt her hold, but she only intensified her grip on the rogue's arm and wrist. Her fingers dug so hard into his flesh that he could feel blood starting to seep.

"What… are you doing?" The elf wheezed. "What was the point of all this?"

Ceasing his casting, Cyrael ended with a single unintelligible syllable, and Cerdan could feel a tingling along his skin from the air surrounding them. The cube in Cyrael's pocket began to emit a red glow once more, and Cerdan felt the room grow colder. But before he could see the effects of the wild magic surge, the celestial's spell began to take hold and he could feel every part of himself being _pulled_ away in all directions.

"The point," whispered the woman as the room began dissolving to black, "is to carry on the struggle that began so many yesterdays ago. The world has forgotten the massacre. The faithmongers have forgotten their crimes. Even _you_ have forgotten the fight. But I have not." Just before the last of the lights vanished, Cerdan saw her pull back her hood, revealing the unusually pale face of a dark-haired elven woman. "You have lost sight of your priorities, but I will guide you back to the path. Now, more than ever, you must remember Caden's Hill."

**(1:00 AM)**


	21. A Just Cause

**A Just Cause**

**(1:00 AM)**

_Flames take them all_, Pryus thought as Cyrael, Lenthyrr, and the other elf faded away into errant slivers of golden light. The winds quickly started to die down. _Should have known better than to come here myself_.

Gnashing his teeth against each other, he jerked the dagger out of his chest, and watched as a thin trickle of blood began to snake its way down the craggy red hide. _So blind that I broke my own rule; always send someone to die in your place_. He let out an angry snort, and noticed that he could _see_ his own breath. Was the room getting colder?

A series of sharp cracking noises echoed through the chamber. Pryus looked up in time to see a multitude of blue crystalline fragments appear hanging in the air overhead.

"Look out!" shouted one of the nearby humans, "The wild surge… take cover!"

Several spear-like shards of ice came crashing down to the cavern floor, forcing all the lesser beings to scatter like rodents. Pryus snorted loudly again, but didn't budge, even as an ice spike shattered no more than a few metres away. He casually plucked a few wayward ice splinters out of his arm and side before he heard a cry from the other side of the room.

One of the blue spears or perhaps a ricocheted piece caught the thief, Kretia, directly in the back. She collapsed across the ground making a wheezing sound as her blood spread out, soaking the back of her tunic and the floor beneath her.

Another icicle from the wild surge struck the younger human, the girl carrying the black case, in the back of the head. She fell out of sight as she went down behind a rocky outcropping. The remaining opponents showed some survival instincts, at least, taking refuge just inside the sealed tunnel leading out of the chamber.

Pryus moved to the centre of the room and stood cross-armed, patiently waiting for the ice storm's magic to exhaust itself. After a short wait, the final shard collided with the ground, knocking over one of the torch sconces as it broke against the ground.

The mercenary in black was the first to emerge from his cover. It was almost pitiful, seeing the human attempt to put on airs of defiance, raising his weapons at Pryus. As if they posed even the slightest threat to him.

"Where has the celestial fled to?" demanded the mercenary. It might have been amusing if Pryus wasn't so disgusted at the moment. "And speak shortly; we outnumber you."

Except for Kretia, the others seemed to be unmolested. Even the young girl survived somehow. She sat up from behind the large rock, rubbing the back of her head with a grimace.

Pryus felt a smirk coming on, but he instead twisted it into a scowl. "Indeed. A cripple, a child, a wild hound, and a woman. Such dire straits I face."

"Child?!"

"Hound?"

"A 'woman'?"

He ignored them and made a pair of fists across his chest, closing his eyes to find his focus. Now that the business with Cyrael was clearly at an end, there was no need to maintain his more discreet appearance. A painful twisting of joints and cracking of bone spread across his body as Pryus felt his entire form stretching and reshaping itself via polymorph. He could feel tendons tear and thicken, adding so much to his muscle-mass that the warrior had to hunch over and place his forearms against the ground as his size shifted. To his eyes, the cavern and its occupants seemed to be shrinking around him.

Pryus' hide 'armour' receded and integrated itself into his thick red scales, and the transformative pain slowly began to subside as his body hardened into its natural state. With the polymorphing magic no longer in place, Pryus felt a wave of relief as he looked down at the small humans and elf. They all had taken several steps back, and gazed upon him with plain fear. Now all was as it should be.

"In your case," growled the dragon, his rough voice echoing off the cave walls. "Greater numbers only means a larger meal for me, should the interest strike me so." Pryus leaned forward, lowering his head toward them. "Fortunately for the lot of you, I am a creature of opportunity. I would prefer to strike a bargain than slay you outright, though I'll gladly do the latter if you force me to it."

"Bargain?! You actually expect us to buy such a dragon-sized load of dung?" shouted the cripple. "Nothing good _ever_ comes from working with or for your enemies. I've learned that the hard way…" Derrick looked at the elf woman, cocking his head at Dace. "On that note, I don't even know why _this_ dog is here. Bloody bastard's just as likely to kill us as the dragon will. What are you even thinking?"

"I've had to make compromises today, Derrick. Don't think I'm pleased with this arrangement, and don't think what he's done is any more or less evil than Cerdan's actions."

Idiot humans never knew when to shut up. At least the mercenary was still paying attention. Pryus raised his head toward the ceiling and opened his maw very slightly, allowing a jet of flame to blast forth from his core. Through the thin layer of smoke that hung in the air, the dragon was sure he could see genuine fear in the small creatures. "I made the mistake of involving myself in this affair and coming here in person. A lapse in judgment, and not one I'll make again today. Yet still I wish to see revenge on the winged one. No doubt you lot wish to see him foiled as well, hm? I can aid you, under the condition that you murder him, through magical means or otherwise, should the chance present itself."

Both the cleric and mercenary answered simultaneously.

"No."

"Yes."

"I won't condone cold murder at some monster's behest, even if Cyrael is a man of evil. We are no mercenaries," said the cleric.

Dace snorted. "I do not care if he is 'evil' or not. I want him dead out of sheer spite."

Pryus almost laughed as he watched the two lock eyes on each other, mirroring each other's glare. The dragon lord had already sacrificed many resources this past day, and for so little gain. At least there was some amusement to be had from these little primates.

(1:11)

"Are you going to kill me now?" he asked.

"No," replied Cyrael. "We have more important –"

"No, really, are you going to kill me now?" the elf asked again.

"_No_."

"…You're _sure_ you're not going to –"

Cyrael flicked his wrist to the side, and the flame blade burst into being, providing a burning shaft of light in the darkness of the room. The elf gasped slightly and squinted his eyes.

"Cease playing games, Cerdan. You may have fooled others by your inanity, but we know you for what you truly are." The celestial glared down at the elf. Clearly, this Bloodletter had long grown accustomed to playing a fool in order to conceal the warrior within. Or so Lenthyrr claimed. She had the 'fool' part correct, at least.

"So what happens now, then?" the elf went on, "I'm tied to a pillar, you hold me at your mercy. Is this the part where you divulge the details of your master plan and I defiantly swear to stop you before you kill me in some elaborately impractical death-trap?"

Cyrael noticed a slight movement at the elf's wrists. "You see me as a villain, do you not? My reasons for all that has occurred thus far are nobler than you may think. Were I to tell you, it would change nothing; you would still seek to oppose me, in all likelihood." Cyrael took a step back and slowly paced around Cerdan in a wide circle. The flaming sword briefly left a vague trail of light as he moved. "But perhaps I grant you too little credit, perhaps there is some flicker of hope within you. Maybe all you need is a tiny spark of clarity to guide you back to the higher path and purpose." He cast his gaze toward the hooded woman standing by the window.

Lenthyrr's head was tilted back slightly as she took in the dim moonlight. Cyrael had been hesitant to bring her to this particular place, but her fervour was unyielding. Strength of will, strength of body; she was the only one he could truly rely on to help him achieve his destiny. Thin wisps of smoke seeped from the ground at her feet and vanished into the air. If they remained on these grounds too long, her strength would soon be sapped away.

Cerdan piped up again, "Oh, I got it now. You need my help for your master plan, don't you? Ha!" A wide smile appeared on his face, but Cyrael knew that the elf had grossly misjudged the situation. "It's this whole business with the Behemoth's Heart, you expect me to show you how to use the blasted weapon so you can crush the world. Is that it? I bet it is!"

"An interesting theory, Caden," murmured Lenthyrr, turning to face them. "One that betrays your inherent mistrust in those that surround you. It is an understandable view, when one realizes that all kith and kin have turned their backs on you. Elves, humans, clergy, and thieves alike."

"No, no, no," Cerdan continued, "that's not how you win me over at all. Pointing out insecurities? Please. Even I have standards, you know; I have to be finessed through bribery! A big enough sack of gold does wonders for my health." Cyrael wondered how long Lenthyrr would go along with this nonsense before returning to the subject of Caden's Hill.

"Besides," added Cerdan, "you'd need to find one of the paladins or priests who built the thing if you want to know how the artifact works. All I did was touch it and pass out."

A corner of Cyrael's lip curled upward. "We already know how to use the magic of the Behemoth."

"Oh, well, jingles for you. Can I go now?"

It was time to reveal the truth to the Bloodletter. Cyrael reached into a pocket on his white coat and removed the chunk of crystal that was so familiar to the elven rogue. "Did you know that a Waterdhavian sect of the Church of Tyr recovered the Heart in the aftermath of the war? It spent decades sealed away in a vault somewhere until a few years ago, when a few opportunistic nobles and clergy elected to make second attempt at mastering the destructive force." As Cyrael spoke, Lenthyrr remained stone silent. No doubt she was intently analyzing Cerdan's face and body language for even the slightest hint of what the thief was thinking.

"I already knew about all that through the rumour vine back at the guild," said Cerdan, "Last I heard, they were having trouble activating its magic. So what? You expect me to care about any of this? I washed my hands of the disaster half a century ago. Let them blow themselves up, for all I care. You can do the same, so long as I don't have to hear you blab on about it."

Cyrael looked at the rogue's hands. The elf was wearing gloves when he picked up the Behemoth's Heart earlier, so he was still ignorant to the connection. "In truth, the Waterdhavians had it all wrong. The spellbinders who created the Heart had long perished since Caden's Hill, so the secrets of the artifact's design were lost. This new generation of arms-builders and seekers of power believed the dormant magical energy could be tapped from the crystal, but have thus far failed."

He thrust his arm forward, pressing the red crystal against the elf's forehead. The artifact began to sparkle with crimson light, flooding the chamber with a pulsing red glow. "The lost power of the Behemoth was never in the Heart as they thought, Cerdan. It was a part of _you_."

(1:19)

Lenthyrr watched Caden's face twist into a look of disbelief. "Ridiculous," he said, staring at the celestial, "You think _I'm_ the Behemoth? If that were true, I'd have a lot more killing sprees to my name than just Caden's Hill." Denial was a natural response for him, Lenthyrr told herself. He went on, "I told you, all I did was touch the crystal. A shock ran through me and I blacked out when the thing set loose the Behemoth. When I woke, a team of paladins was dragging me off the floor and putting me in chains."

"The Behemoth was never a creature of flesh and blood, Caden." Lenthyrr said, leaning in close. "Deep down, you knew that. It is a force derived from layers in the mind and spirit, below the veil of conscious thought. Your deepest and truest base instincts laid bare and given corporeal form. _That_ is the true nature of the Behemoth. I was told by the few survivors that it looked like a towering, leonine giant of ghost-like composition, driven like a beast through the soldiers at Caden's Hill." She nodded toward the crystal in Cyrael's hand. "I imagine it would burn just as brightly were it fuelled by the hatred of any other man or woman. It was merely coincidence that you were wrapped with the paladins' blame for the slaughter. The results likely would have been the same no matter who used it."

She reached up and pushed her hood back, proudly displaying her elvish features. "Are you not tired of running? Of being a mere scapegoat for a corrupt sect of fanatical despots? Please, Caden, let us help you correct this injustice. It is time to wash the blood from your hands and punish those truly responsible."

"Sounds to me like someone's living in the past. I've already accepted what I was."

"But can you accept what you _are_? Look at how far you've fallen; living in this hive of human-kind, wasting your days adhering to their customs. Trying to become more like _them_. It is a wide-spread epidemic; not simply among elves, but all the civilized races… turning their backs on tradition and the very things that make us unique, only to embrace the greed-filled lifestyle of a more barbaric, short-lived species. Backwards-style thinking," she spat. Every moment she spent in these human cities was nauseating; no matter where she travelled across Faerun, there were always race-traitors floating about in plain sight.

"And what would you offer against this… affliction?" asked Caden. Lenthyrr noticed his hands had stopped straining against the ropes.

"That all depends on you." She pressed her right hand over her heart, three fingers pointing to the side, and raised her left palm in front, three fingers pointing the opposite way. It was an old elvish sign, shared as an acknowledgement between soldiers who had served together in war. Strength of heart and will on one side, trust in one's brothers and sisters on the other. She only hoped Caden wasn't so far gone that he would forget so simple a message. "Come back to us, Caden. Be the torchbearer for our kind once more."

When she finished speaking, Lenthyrr gave a short, simple bow and stepped away. Leaving Caden alone with Cyrael, she approached the exit to the chamber and waited outside, closing the door behind her. It was still the middle of the night, and no one was likely to come this far up the stairs. Every pace caused her feet to smoke against the stone, but she paid it little mind. It would take more than a tower falsely consecrated by _human_ gods to stop their quest. Half a century after Caden's Hill, they would finally bring true justice to the liars and fanatics that infested the realms, starting with Baldur's Gate.

(1:22)

Pryus watched in silence as the elf and humans conferred near the body of the dead celestial woman. The cripple, Derrick, kept casting a narrow-eyed glare at Pryus, on guard for any sudden moves. As if he believed they could stand a chance in a fight against a dragon that dwarfed them all.

"It's empty… completely devoid of magical energy," said the cleric, placing the expended Sigil back around the dead celestial's neck. "What were you trying to achieve here? We learned little from your man, Cordas, beyond your propensity for wanton murder."

The dragon snorted. "Cordas was nothing, a convenient means at my disposal. I simply provided him with the tools and resources, and ordered him to recover the Sigils. The specific avenues he took were _his_ choice, not mine. If anything, his ways were a product of the society that shaped him. Perhaps the real problem lies in the human condition. _We_, however, had a loftier pursuit.

"Immortality," Pryus replied, expelling a waft of smoke through his nostrils as he spoke. "Or something close enough to it. Cyrael claimed to be a seraph of Myrkul, the former god of the dead. I still believe this to be the true. We were told that during the year of Myrkul's downfall, the deity encased small portions of his essence in various artifacts throughout Faerun for retrieval after the Time of Troubles ended."

"We already know that much about the Sigils," said Selena. She gestured at the blackened hole in the fallen celestial's chest. "But what of this one?"

Pryus dipped his head and flexed his wings, giving his best imitation of a shrug. "A mercy killing, perhaps? It is beyond my knowledge. We were told that the statue was a focal point for Myrkul's essence. The Sigils' power was to be safely extracted here, and the Wild Source and Behemoth's Heart would have reinforced the magical energy." His scaly lips drew back, baring his teeth in a sneer. "I suppose all that was a lie. Lesson learned: never trust winged beasts. I should know."

The elf sighed. "Well, we know the power of that medallion restored this woman, and probably rendered Cyrael himself invulnerable. It makes me wonder what he's going to do with the second Sigil."

Derrick tapped his cane on the ground. "Wait, I don't follow. I thought the Sigils were weapons. When Verskul tried to destroy Baldur's Gate–"

"Verskul? He was an ingrate that grabbed for more than he deserved," Pryus snarled. Deep down, the dragon always knew that it was a poor decision to bring the human wizard into their inner circle. Sure enough, the old mage ended up defying them in the end. "The only reason we enlisted his aid was for his research into the present locations of the Sigils. As soon as he learned of our true plans, he turned on us and tried to destroy the artifacts along with your precious city. Good riddance to him."

"And just what are your 'true plans'?"

"It is of no matter now, with Cyrael gone rogue."

Dace returned to the group from the tunnel that led out. He set down the candle in his hand as he addressed the group. "The beast was right. All exits are sealed by some kind of reinforced stone wall."

Pryus narrowed his eyes at the small creature. "As I said, Cyrael chose this location himself. The paths to this chamber were built by some madman called Sharino. A puzzler of some sort. I knew not of any wardings."

"Then we'll need to focus on breaking the enchantment." Derrick pointed to Selena and Nell. "Cleric, bard, check to see if the magic can be undone. As for you, dragon–"

Nell suddenly piped up for the first time. She sat atop a large rock, leaning forward with her elbows resting atop her knees. "Wait, I can't use magic."

"You're a bard, aren't you?"

The girl's face became marred with a grimace. "I'm getting so sick of explaining this," she muttered. "Look, I can't cast spells, I don't have encyclopaedic knowledge of enchanted doo-dads, and I don't sing special songs that somehow turn you into better fighters for no reason whatsoever!"

"…So, you're not a bard?"

"I'm an _artist_. I truly hate how everyone immediately equates 'bard' with 'spellcaster'. It used to be about the music itself, not making it easier for your friends to kill things."

"How are you even still alive?" demanded Pryus, now that his attention was focused on the girl. "I saw you felled by an ice shard to the head."

Instead of answering the dragon directly, Nell replied to the elf. "That's what I've been trying to tell you; it doesn't… magic doesn't 'stick' to me like it does most people. I was born in a region scarred by dead magic." She crossed her arms. "So there, I'm not interested in joining your half-crazed gang of thugs. I just want out of here."

"If what you say is true," said Pryus, moving his head closer to her, "then you have the best chance of acquiring the Wild Source without being harmed by its effects."

"No! You think I'm a damned adventurer or something? I just play the violin, for pike's sake!"

Selena stepped in, placing herself between Pryus and the girl. "We cannot force her to aid us."

"Perhaps _you_ cannot," said Dace.

Derrick waved his cane in the air. "This is all a moot point if we're trapped here. Hey you," he pointed at Dace, "show me the barrier."

Pryus scratched one of his claws against the floor as the smaller creatures ambled away from him. They obviously didn't trust him – and why would they? – but they were mostly driven to continue the search for Cyrael, and that was all he cared about. He settled his head down near the floor and waited. He could be patient, if need be.

(1:30)

Cyrael opened the door to see Lenthyrr standing patiently in the stairwell. At her feet in a heap lay a robed corpse, its flesh shrivelled and grey.

"He came up here just now to light the torches," Lenthyrr said before Cyrael could rebuke her. "I had no other avenue but to feed upon him. It is no consequence. What's one more human?"

Shaking his head, the celestial let the matter slide. "Hide the body in the room, then. And take this as well." He removed the Wild Source from his pocket and passed it to the elven woman. "Too much spellcasting in this tower for me to carry it around."

"Caden has pledged himself to our cause?" she asked, a flicker of hope appearing in her dead eyes.

The celestial took a short pause before replying. "He said as much…"

"Then you think we can trust him?"

"I am certain we _cannot_," he said, lowering his voice. "Clearly he intends to betray us at the first available opportunity."

The elven woman's external expression was unreadable, but she was no doubt crestfallen inside. Cyrael had a feeling of almost-pity for her in his heart. "Still, so long as he pretends to be on our side, he won't cause any immediate problems for our quest. Outwardly, at least. And his lack of sincerity is no great loss, so long as we keep the Behemoth's Heart on hand."

"And the second Sigil?"

"It is warded by the followers of Tyr. An oversight on my part; I should have foreseen that they would have protections in place. I must locate a high-ranking member here, before we can make use of its magic." As the celestial made his way down the steps, he tilted his head at the door behind them. "Mind him, and do not lower your guard. He is not yet ready to know the entire truth."

(1:33)

"Dragon!" Derrick shouted from within the tunnel, "Quit blocking the passage with your fat head. It's hot enough down here even without your awful breath filling the corridor!"

Pryus snorted and leaned back slightly, but continued to peer down at the end of the tunnel. The passage was far too narrow for him to fit through without polymorphing into his human-form, and he had no interest in doing so. Let the humans puzzle their way through the barrier. He was in no hurry. Let the underlings sweat and toil their own way to progress, that's what they're meant for.

He squinted and watched as Derrick waved a candle across the surface of the flat stone wall blocking the way. "Definitely man-made," the human said aloud to the others. "But not a dwarven hew. My late friend Rombis taught me a thing or two about stonecutting."

"There's an identical barrier in the overhead passage as well," offered the elf, "Don't expect me to climb back up, though. It was hard enough working up the will to descend."

"Hmm. Probably attached to a counterweight on the other side." Derrick pressed his ear against the stone and banged on the wall with his cane. "Solid, though. Can't drill through it, even if we had the right implements."

"Or maybe it's held by magical force," Selena said. "Cyrael and that other mage had time to cast during the confusion earlier. It's easy to lose track of the number of wild surges when the room is filled with mist."

"Wait," said Nell, standing behind the others. The girl pointed to the left part of the stone wall. "What are those markings going up and down the side?"

Derrick moved the candle over and looked closer. "Five straight, parallel lines running vertically. Hm. And there are some sporadic little dots on the lines, appearing intermittently." He scratched his head. "And there's another pattern over on the right side, too. Maybe it's a code of some kind?"

"No," Nell whispered absently. "Not a code…" The others looked back at the girl, and saw that she had her head tilted to the left. They all tilted their heads in a similar way and stared at the wall again, clearly wondering what she saw that they did not. "It's a _song_."

Glancing back at Pryus, Nell asked, "Who did you say built this chamber?"

"Cyrael claimed it was created by someone called Sharino, or Serino. Someone called the Mad Prodigy."

"Serino… no he must have meant Cierenno!" Her declaration was met by silence. "You know, Cierenno? Faerun's greatest and most eccentric composer?" More silence. "Ugh, you vagrants don't know anything. Barbarians," she muttered.

"Why would a… musician want to build a chamber down in the city bowels?" asked Derrick.

"He was mad?"

"Eccentricities?"

"The acoustics _are_ pretty good in here…"

"Fine, never mind. So what happens now?" Derrick went on, "You just strum a few notes on your lute?"

"Please. I can't stand the lute. The only reason I carried one around before was because the unenlightened masses practically _expect_ every minstrel in Faerun and their mother to have one. So cliché." She removed the black case from around her shoulder and laid it flat on the ground. "I prefer the violin. An instrument like this takes actual training and skill to perfect."

"Just shut up and play, will you?"

"Pfah. Move the candle along the score as I progress."

Pryus watched as she removed the wooden instrument and the bow from the case and prepared to play the first note. _A _musical _key of all things_, he thought, settling his head low on the floor. Why were humans such fickle, irrational creatures?

(1:40)

Cyrael made his way through the ornate corridors of the Tower of Tyr's lower floors. None of the knights or clergy he passed even bothered a single look at him. No doubt they were all far too pressed and fatigued after the attacks that Pryus' men had orchestrated earlier in the day. Even if he were to throw off his coat and flap his wings, the humans here would probably think they were seeing things from stress.

Unfortunately for him, the only faithful he saw thus far were either paladins or minor healers and pages. Not a one who would possess the divine ability needed to remove the Sigil's protective wards. Maybe Pryus' henchmen had done too thorough a job.

He paused as he rounded a corner and narrowed his eyes. Standing down the hall was an elderly man in priest's robes, currently scolding a young boy who had a dark bruise just above his nose. Was _this_ how discipline was kept in the temple?

"… you out with a _clear,_ simple order to follow, and you waste this opportunity by getting in a brawl with some street kid?!" shouted the old man.

The young acolyte stared at his shoes and burbled, "Not just any kid, he was two – no, _three_ feet bigger than me, with fists the size of hams! And I think he was working for–"

"Spare me your roundabout excuses, acolyte. Get from my sight hastefully. I think there is an unwashed latrine calling for you somewhere."

"Yes, Prelate." The boy murmured as he scurried away.

Prelate? So this was the man Lenthyrr had contacted a month ago regarding Cerdan's current whereabouts. It was the right move to flush the Bloodletter out of hiding this way, and even serendipitous for Cyrael's current task.

There were still a few clergymen and women wandering the hall, so he couldn't apprehend the Prelate immediately. The celestial slowed his pace, following the old man through a set of double-doors that opened to a large, mostly dark chamber. The few lamps that hung on opposite ends of the room provided barely enough light that Cyrael could make out the many rows of makeshift cots and stretchers across the floor. Most of the wounded were sleeping or moaning in pain, and none took notice of either man as they walked the narrow aisles between the beds.

As the Prelate reached the midpoint of the chamber, Cyrael decided it was noisy and dark enough for him to strike. He took several quick long strides forward and grabbed the old man from behind, tightly clasping the human's mouth and neck. Saudere flapped his arms around and made some muffled sounds, but the celestial was clearly the human's physical superior.

Cyrael glanced around as Saudere struggled. No other clerics or knights entered the hall, so all Cyrael had to do was wait for the old man to pas out. Then he could hide the Prelate under a blanket and move him out atop a stretcher. No one would stop to question one more corpse on a day like today.

Saudere gave a few final, sluggish kicks, banging his feet against the nearby beds. When the Prelate finally went limp, Cyrael carefully laid the human to the floor and turned around to grab a bloodied quilt hanging off the foot of a cot behind him. As he turned to face Saudere again, he felt a momentary ripple in the air as something swished past his shoulder.

A blade? Acting instantly, the celestial jumped backward and stretched his wings out of instinct. He instantly regretted both actions; a loud rip echoed through the massive room as his wings ripped through the back of his coat. Even worse, he stumbled into the bed behind him and fell atop an injured man who began screaming from the pain and surprise. All this was quickly pushed out of his mind as his attacker lunged forward with a second blow, driving a blade down at Cyrael's chest in a downward chop.

Throwing caution aside, Cyrael summoned his flaming sword to hand. The fire blade exploded into being, and the steel weapon collided against the celestial's magic. Locked against each other, the sword's flame illuminated the face of Cyrael's opponent. It was the swordsman from Kara-tur, whom Cyrael had briefly seen earlier in the day with Norris. And now the easterner had seen him take the Prelate.

Even worse was the fact that the warrior's katana was holding strong against Cyrael's flame blade. Sparks periodically cracked from where the weapons clashed. If the katana wasn't melting against the celestial fire, it must have been forged with a particularly strong enchantment woven into the steel. Although Cyrael could no longer die due to the Sigil's magic, such a weapon could still inflict raw pain upon his being or even slow him down if he stopped to self-regenerate.

Behind the easterner, Cyrael saw that the Prelate was already stirring back to wakefulness. The plan wasn't going to work now… he had no choice but to pull back to the tower-top empty-handed. Using all his strength, Cyrael pushed hard against the warrior, tossing him back into the bed behind him. That was all the time the celestial needed to dismiss his flaming sword from his hand, and release a focused blast of wind from the other. The sudden loss of light would leave the Kara-turian momentarily blind, but Cyrael had no desire to push his fleeting advantage.

He leaped off the bed, ignoring the screams of the patient lying there, and moved back toward the doorway that he entered from. With both hands, he let loose another gust of wind, just enough to push away the beds before him and create enough space in the aisle for a short sprint. He charged forward and leaped up, angling his body, and let his feet leave the floor.

He flapped his wings a single time, and held them out, letting himself glide out through the double-doors, swooping past a pair of guards approaching from the hallway to investigate the commotion. Twisting himself in mid-air as he rounded the narrow corner, Cyrael had to use his hands to continually summon enough wind to keep himself aloft.

Flying up to the next floor, he could hear the clanking of metal armour following from behind. Setting down atop the flight of stairs, he turned to look down at the knights that warily approached the first few steps. A single sharp gust would probably be enough to knock them over in their bulky armour.

"Stand down, mortals!" he boomed, projecting his voice as far as he could. "I am an emissary of Tyr, and I demand you return to–"

One knight with a thick black glove on one hand pushed his way to the front. "Hold, creature. You disturb the sanctity of this place… we're not dense enough to drop to our knees in praise of every white-winged spell-wielder that crosses our path. You stink of a devil in angel's dress."

Cyrael heard a door open directly behind him. "What's all the commotion–"

The woman was cut short with a gasp when she laid eyes on Cyrael's feathered wings. The celestial swiftly closed in and seized the woman by the arm, pulling out of the doorway. Calling his sword back, Cyrael held the flame up toward the cleric's face.

"You there, sir black-glove." He called down at the knights.

"Sir _Rennemar_, monster."

"Order your men off this pursuit, or yet more death will follow here." The knights made no further moves toward him, but they didn't back off, either.

Knowing this would not hold them for long, Cyrael pulled the cleric alongside as he hurried toward the next flight of stairs, and continued to make his way to the tower apex.

(1:49)

"Wait, let me try that again."

"And you call yourself a musician, girl?" demanded Derrick.

Nell shook her head. "I'm not used to reading a musical score written sideways… and in the dark. For all I know, I'm reading the notes upside-down and backwards. I've never seen this particular sequence before." She adjusted her fingers on the violin and started over.

Any amusement these bickering children had to offer was long exhausted. Pryus scraped a claw along the ground and turned his head, eyeing the corpse of the celestial woman and briefly wondered how celestial flesh might taste. Something to investigate later after he was rid of these others.

As the two humans continued to blunder through their musical puzzle, Pryus noticed Dace giving him a cold stare, as if sizing the dragon up for an attack. The mercenary moved toward Selena and muttered something to her, holding a gloved hand over his mouth. The elf's eyes moved between Dace and Pryus before she mumbled something in reply. Both moved out of the tunnel to stand before Pryus.

"Dragon!" shouted the elf, "Cyrael could be anywhere by now. We'll need further direction when we escape this place."

If there was one thing Pryus hated about their kind, it was their annoying tendency to grow defiant when subservience was due. "Bah, I cannot help you. Our plan was to make our stand here, divide the power, and then go our separate ways. We agreed that we would each fight the encroachment of human society in our own way."

Dace snorted. "More fools, you. Throwing your weight behind excessive, grandiose schemes that never go anywhere… You deserve your failure."

The dragon ignored the comment. "If Cyrael still plans to strike against human society, he'll do so in a major hub of activity. Not likely Waterdeep, though… the wizards of this city are keenly aware of magical disturbances. We went through great pains to avoid detection here below the earth, but even Cyrael would not have the resources or the bravado to walk the streets. Certainly not while unleashing the wanton chaos of the Wild Source. No, if he used the artifact on the masses above, the city would be on him in a blink."

"Baldur's Gate, then?" asked Selena, "We're a city run by merchants and traders. Mages have a lesser presence there than in most other Sword Coast cities."

Pryus nodded his head. It made sense. "He escaped this chamber by casting some sort of recall spell… so it probably would teleport him to a place where he had already set foot recently."

"_We_ lack that luxury," Dace said pointedly.

"Obviously so. But… there is another option." Pryus narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Cyrael was not alone in concealing things from the rest of our group. One of my tasks was to provide the portal mirrors between Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate; I happen to have a business associate who is also a practiced artificer." The dragon tilted his head toward the tunnel as he exhaled a small puff of smoke.

"I never told Cyrael or the others of a separate set of mirrors, linking my nearby lair to one of Cordas' safehouses with your city. If I lead you there, I expect that you will move swiftly after the celestial, and leave my lair and its contents untouched."

The sound of Nell's violin behind them held a long note, and was suddenly drowned out by a low grinding noise. Looking into the tunnel, they could see the stone wall receding down into a gap in the floor.

Selena folded her arms and returned her attention to Pryus. "We'll accept your offer for now, but don't presume that we're your personal hit team. I won't condone violence if it can be avoided."

"Hnnh. If you want to stop him, you may not have a choice." Pryus closed his eyes and focused on the polymorph spell he had committed to memory. Clenching his teeth, the dragon growled out the incantation and began to feel his body crack and tighten on itself as his scales began to recede. The pain was a necessary process as his physical form reconfigured itself, and he would make no complaint so long as revenge drove him. Any important enough goal inevitably called for sacrifices.

(1:53)

Cyrael slammed the door open and shoved the cleric inside. Cerdan was sitting on the windowsill, facing the door. The celestial ignored the rogue for now and pointed to Lenthyrr. "Pass me you cloak and the orb, quickly!"

She pulled the black garment from her shoulders and tossed it to him without question. From one of the larger pockets on her voluminous robe, she produced the sphere of ice that they had previously lent to (and then took back from) Pryus' man, Cordas, back in Baldur's Gate. After hastily donning the protective cloak, Cyrael took the ice sphere and went a few steps down the stairwell outside. Holding the cloak close over his face and body, he raised his arm and pitched the orb at the opposite wall.

There was a sharp cracking sound from where the orb struck, and Cyrael could feel the heat draining from the air around him. He lowered the cloak and saw that a spheroid wall of ice was now blocking the passage to the lower levels. More than enough to impede the knights' pursuit.

The celestial moved down to where the ice sphere was embedded in the thick frozen barrier. He summoned his flaming sword and slowly ran the tip in a circle around the artifact, careful not to touch the fire to the orb itself. The ice cracked and sizzled where the blade touched, and the orb soon fell out of the ice wall. Dismissing his blade, Cyrael quickly caught the orb in one hand with the cloak and returned to the tower apex.

The human cleric was sitting with her back against one of the white columns near the centre of the room. She didn't appear overly scared and merely glared at the others, particularly Lenthyrr. Good. If she were sobbing uncontrollably, it would only hinder what would come next.

Cyrael handed the orb and cloak back to Lenthyrr, then removed the unspent Sigil of the Fallen from within his coat.

"Our presence here is known, I take it?" asked Lenthyrr, gesturing at his protruding wings.

Ignoring the question, Cyrael crouched before the human woman, dangling the amulet from his hand. "Your people have placed a divine ward on this artifact. The markings on your robe paint you as a ranking clergywoman. I want you to remove the enchantment." The woman was silent for a long moment before she opened her mouth to speak. Cyrael immediately cut her off. "I know what you will say; 'Never help the likes of you', 'My faith makes me strong', 'Unbreakable conviction', et cetera. But let me tell you this; you _are_ going to die here."

The flame sword burst alive into his free hand, causing the cleric to yelp and flinch. Cyrael continued, "_I _wish to grant you a quick death. A clean and honourable purging of mortal life through holy fire. But my friend here." He tilted his head toward Lenthyrr. "She has less mercy in her heart. I'm certain you sensed it immediately, she is undead. What you may not realize, however, is that she is an elven vampire. Do you know what that means?"

Lenthyrr crossed her arms, pacing closer. "Of course she doesn't. The human faiths oft fail to educate their followers on the nuances of _other_ races."

"Elven vampires do not merely feed off the blood of a victim as their human counterparts do," Cyrael said, "They drain a person's essence of spirit. She can degrade your willpower and soul until you literally remain a shadow of your former self. _Then_ we will force you to undo the Sigil's warding, and your soul will be damned to the Nine Hells as well." He raised the black amulet before the woman's face at eye level. "Time to decide your fate, human. Will you let yourself perish with a soul corrupted, or do you choose to die pure?"

(1:56)

"Why in the world must dragons always make their homes in the dankest, most inaccessible holes in the ground?" the girl muttered aloud.

The dragon snorted but didn't deign to answer. If she was too dense to see the value of solitude from human company, then it wasn't _his _place to offer any enlightenment. The irony that he made his home beneath a veritable hive of humans was not lost on him. The main reason he put up with this city was that Waterdeep had the tendency to attract some of the best magic talent in all the Realms. And besides, owning a hoard of gems and gold was completely useless out in the wild. Why most of his younger brethren would simply sit atop their hoards and never actually _spend_ any of it was beyond him. Simple attraction to shiny objects, perhaps.

Still in his tiny human form, Pryus led the party up a recently dug incline in the earth. Ryloch's fellow doppelgangers had done a particularly quick job in clearing the passage from the existing tunnels to Cierenno's chamber. Capable minions were so hard to come by.

He'd gone through so much toil and trial for an attempt to bring down the power centres of human civilization. And now he was helping their kind, though more for spite of Cyrael than any altruistic reason. It mattered little, he could plant schemes tomorrow. Vengeance today.

The path levelled out and they entered a cavern that was even wider than the previous one, though the walls and floor were noticeably damp.

"I've never even seen this much gold at once…" Nell whispered as she saw the piles of money heaped around the centre of the room.

"Don't get any ideas. It's hard enough to move these coins from place to place, and I won't activate the portal if any of you resort to petty thievery."

"Whatever. I don't care about that madness in Baldur's Gate, I just want to get up to Waterdeep and be away from all you crazies! Need some sleep…"

"Enough talk," said Dace. "Where is the mirror you described?"

Pryus pointed at the far end of the chamber where the last unbroken mirror stood draped in dark cloth. They crossed the room and the dragon whisked the cover away. After a mere hour, he was already growing weary of his present company, and more than prepared to see them off. Touching the sequence of runes lining the frame, the portal rippled open, revealing a dark room on the other side.

"Where will this lead us?" demanded Dace.

"One of the safehouses previously operated by Cordas. I believe it is situated in the wealthier upstate regions of your city."

"I see." Dace looked Selena in the eye. "You go first."

She gave the mercenary a scowl. "No tricks, blackheart."

"Hurry up and leave," Pryus growled. The elf made an indignant sniffing sound and, pulling her damp cloak tightly around her legs, carefully stepped through the frame.

As soon as she passed the threshold, the woman let out a shriek and appeared to tumble forward, slamming against the opposite wall.

"Augh, blast," she groaned, rubbing her neck and looking around. To Pryus' surprise, the elf got up and appeared to be standing perpendicular to them with her feet on the wall. She looked up at the others through the portal. "It's on the ceiling. Cordas hung the mirror flat on the damned ceiling."

"Really…" said Dace. The mercenary suddenly turned to the side and seized Nell by the wrist. Yanking the girl ahead in the direction of the mirror, he put his leg out and tripped the girl, forcing her to collapse forward and fall through the portal. Crying out in surprise, the girl tried to grab the side of the frame as she went through, but her fingers slipped and she tumbled down in to Baldur's Gate.

Pryus saw Selena lurch forward and manage to catch Nell in her arms, nearly toppling over as she struggled under the sudden weight.

"Betrayal!" shouted Derrick. To his credit, he was quick enough to draw his sword-cane from its sheath before Dace kicked out, knocking the weapon from his hand and across the chamber.

The mercenary pointed a finger at Pryus, "Break this mirror or I will not pursue Cyrael!"

Shoving Derrick over into a pile of coins, Dace charged forward, grabbed the top of the frame, and swung himself through the portal.

Pryus watched the mercenary roll as he landed. Without hesitation, dragon stepped forth and touched a pair of symbols on the frame simultaneously, calling out the spell syllables over Derrick's protests from behind. The pane's image became silver and opaque for an instant before exploding into a multitude of glass shards that ineffectually struck Pryus' hide armour.

"You piking beast! Why did you do that?!" Derrick exclaimed, hobbling over and pressing his hands against the empty frame.

"Of the four of you, the mercenary seems by far the only capable candidate for damaging Cyrael's plans. It would be foolish of me not to favour _his _methods over those of a pacifist, a child, and a cripple." He watched impassively as Derrick retrieved his sword-cane from the ground. "Do you intend to fight me, human?" The dragon made the disdain evident in his voice.

Derrick's grip tightened over the handle, but didn't move otherwise.

"Bah, as I thought." Pryus cocked his head toward one of the tunnels leading out of his lair. "That way will lead you up to the sewer system. Begone, and be thankful I've kept you so far from certain death, human. Our part in this day's events is at an end."

**(2:00 AM)**


	22. Madness in his Method

**Madness in his Method**

**(2:00 AM)**

A shower of broken glass came down on the trio, and the elf had to unceremoniously dump Nell over by the wall in order to dodge the shards. Rubbing her shoulder, Nell looked up to see the elven woman interposing herself between Dace and the minstrel.

"Not another step, blackheart!" Nell saw a small mace appear in Selena's hand. "Keep away from her!" The cleric was starting to sound like her mother. Or maybe it was just the blow to Nell's head from before.

"You make a fool of yourself, elf. If I intended harm, she would already be bleeding or dead. She is an asset that will help serve our contract."

"People are not tools. Kidnapping an innocent and stranding her in the midst of a pending city-wide destruction is going too far."

Dace looked down his nose at the elf. "Are you dense? That is exactly why you need me. I go to those terrible lengths, do things that you refuse to even consider. That is how this works. I trudge through the dirt to help you emerge the victor, and you get to maintain your pristine morality."

"I only put up with you because Cerdan believed you could be controlled. It's my own fault for actually believing that. Leave us."

The mercenary shrugged and Nell felt a wave of relief as the man slowly walked toward the door. "So be it. I said I would bring down Cyrael, and I will do so in my own way." He paused as he opened the door. "You have the means, faithmonger. You have the goal. You know what you face. Are your morals so important that you would let an entire city burn? Do not let pride obscure the course that must be taken. Make your choice."

As he exited, leaving the two women alone, Nell got up from the ground and looked at the cleric. "What did he mean by that last part?"

Letting out a slow breath, Selena shook her head. "That's… not something you need to worry about right now."

"Do _all_ of you adventurers speak so vaguely?" Nell said through clenched teeth as she adjusted the violin case strapped to her back. "Let me tell you something. In the past half-day, I've been kidnapped, beaten, shipwrecked _twice_, transported halfway down the Sword Coast, and had all manner of sharp-toothed, spell-slinging, maniacal monstrosities threaten and shove me around in all directions but up. I'm _not_ in the mood to be treated like some halfwit child by some holier-than-thou clergywoman, so tell me what in the hells this is all about!"

Returning the mace to the belt beneath her robe, the cleric fixed Nell with a hard stare as they left the room and searched for the way to the street. "Fine. The mercenary expects _me_ to force you to help us fight Cyrael. You said you're resistant to magic, and I believe you. No one with an attitude like yours would bother to make up something like that. At any rate, you'd stand the best chance at retrieving that wild-magic cube or surviving his flame sword… possibly."

The elf seemed to notice the wary look on Nell's face. "Of course, I won't _make _you do any of that, but I hope you'll at least consider–"

"Forget it," Nell crossed her arms. "I just want to go back to Waterdeep. I'm a musician, okay? I have a life to think of."

Nodding, Selena frowned slightly but didn't say anything to refute her. The look on the elf's face left Nell with the feeling that the cleric was judging her. "Fine, but I must insist that you at least come with me to my fellow clergy at the temple. They can take care of you for now, and you look like you could use some rest."

_Music to my ears_, Nell thought, _In an off-key, dissonant way. Small comfort now that I've no hope of reaching the Conservatory on time. Damn adventurers. Whatever they're doing, I hope it's worth all this trouble._

(2:07)

"This isn't worth the trouble," said Lenthyrr, briefly glancing at Cerdan. "This clergywoman likely lacks the divine talent to unravel the Sigil's warding anyway."

Cerdan shrugged and continued to run through various escape attempts in his head. The presence of the human, however, complicated things immensely. He recognized her as one of Selena's friends – Cheryl, or something – and he knew that abandoning the young woman to certain death wouldn't ingratiate him to the ex-priestess. The best he could do for now was to continue playing the game and try to leave as little destruction in his path as possible.

The celestial seemed to be making little progress with the cleric through his words, and it wouldn't be long before they carried out their threats. Cerdan motioned for Cyrael to come closer.

"Perhaps you should let me try speaking with her," the rogue suggested. "No offense, but I think the both of you have no idea how to speak to her kind." The celestial gave a slight nod, passed him the Sigil, and waited with Lenthyrr by the window as Cerdan went over to the cleric.

Crouching down on one knee, Cerdan looked the woman in the eye. "You know what they're going to do to you if you don't undo the Sigil's wards." He didn't bother phrasing it as a question. "Now, normally I'd applaud your conviction, but this matter isn't just about you. If you don't agree to help them, they _will_ find someone else in the place who can." He lowered his voice slightly. "Someone more competent, more skilled."

The woman remained silent as stone.

"You're Selena's friend, aren't you? Cheryl, or Carol? Early yesterday, I sent her a letter stamped with the seal of a black three-pointed crown." That mention seemed to get the cleric's attention. "Well, I should inform you that I'm not who you think I am."

"You're Caden the Bloodletter, scourge of Caden's Hill, and the one for whom cleric Shademoor gave up her priesthood to protect."

"… Okay, maybe I _am_ who you think I am. All the same, I'm only working with those other two," he said, tilting his head to the side and back, "in order to slow them down. But it would be far better if I could do that without bloodshed." He held up the Sigil.

"You're asking me to put a great deal of trust in you," she whispered.

"Yes, faith! Isn't that what you clergy-types are supposed to have in abundance?"

The cleric rolled her eyes. "Not _blind_ faith. If even a fraction of the things I've heard about you from the Prelate are true, you'd say anything to acquire power for you bloody crusade." Slowly, she reached out to take the black amulet. "But the former priestess seems to believe in you. And I have faith in _her_. So out of respect for cleric Shademoor, I'll do as you ask."

Cradling the Sigil in her palms, the woman closed her eyes. "Any my name in _Charell_, by the way. Don't bother sharing yours, I already know more about you than I would ever care to."

Letting out a sigh, Cerdan shook his head slightly and rose from the ground. _Sheesh, _he thought, _commit one act of mass murder, and suddenly you're nobody's friend. Who'd have guessed?_

He glanced over his shoulder to Cyrael and Lenthyrr and gave a single nod. His conversation with Charell was spoken in soft enough tones, and the others gave no indication that they had heard his words. _Good enough_, he thought as Charell began her work on the Sigil, _Let's see where this takes us_.

(2:14)

"There, you see?" asked Lenthyrr. "He does support our cause."

Cyrael let his wings flutter slightly, stirring up a cloud of dust around them. It was almost pitiable how far the elven vampire was enthralled by delusions of her own making. Perhaps undeath had put her mental faculties into a sort of stasis. Perhaps she had lost perspective that things were different now than they were a half-century ago. He offered no reply to the elf, and they waited patiently in minutes of silence.

As the human finished her spell, she handed it back to Cerdan, who wrapped it in a white kerchief he produced from a pocket. The rogue nodded to the cleric. "Thank you, my good woman." He then slammed his fist into her forehead, and the human practically flew backward before hitting her head against the stone column and falling still on the floor.

"Ouch," Cerdan said, flinching slightly. "Well, the best place to get hurt is in a temple, after all."

The elf returned to the others near the window, and with an exaggerated flourish, handed the wrapped amulet to Lenthyrr. The vampire let a hand linger over the cloth for a moment. "I sense no divine magic exuding from the amulet. I imagine the cleric has done her part."

"Then we're finished here," Cyrael said as he took the wrapped artifact and put it away in a pocket on his coat. "Now to make our way to the final battleground."

"You're not going to risk another teleportation spell, I hope," Cerdan remarked. "I hear those Wild Surges induce madness over time."

"No, I've an alternate method for our purposes."

Lenthyrr suddenly grabbed Cerdan by the arm and moved him toward the window.

"Wait, what are you doing now?" Cerdan twisted slightly. Behind them, he saw that Charell's eyes fluttered slightly, and her head turned in their direction.

"Not a season for argument, elf." Cyrael pointed out the window to the south. "The time has come for us to take flight to the city's Old Quarter."

(2:17)

"How could this possibly happen a second time?" demanded the Prelate.

Sir Rennemar could only shake his head. "I wasn't in the tower during the first attack, so I cannot explain it, sir. All I know is that the cleric is in peril. I'd expect nothing less from that winged beast." He had to admit, though, it was a relief that no one had been trapped within the ice wall this time. Little surprise to learn that magic was the chief weapon of the hostage-taker.

They stood at the base of the spiral stairwell that led to the temple's highest room. Several priests, as well a local mage, had squeezed into the passage to deal with the ice barrier that blocked their path.

One clergy member hurried down and addressed Saudere. "Sir, the wizard seems to be making progress. He says we'll be able to send someone through shortly."

"So soon?"

"He claims the barrier here is weaker than the one from before. Something about the prior ice wall being 'maximized' or some such."

_And now we stoop to _using_ magic in order to undo the damage caused by magic in the first place_, Rennemar thought, _How utterly demeaning._

A loud cracking noise echoed down from the stairwell, prompting Rennemar to hurry up the steps. He soon came across the ice wall and the wizard who had been summoned here from the local mages' guild. Ignoring the disgustingly smug grin on the spellbinder's face, Rennemar stepped past and examined the barrier. A huge hole had been created in the centre of the frozen layer, as if a humongous fist had burst through from this side.

The wizard called out to Rennemar. "If you intend to face the villain, it may be wise to accept some magical enchantments for protection."

"Never," the knight hissed to himself as he ducked and went through the hole. Lying on the steps past the ice was a dried corpse in the vestments of Tyr. As decayed as the body was, he could tell that it was not the abducted female cleric. Drawing his sword from the sheath, Rennemar didn't bother waiting for back-up, and twisted the handle of the door above as soon as he reached it.

Throwing the door open, he was somewhat dismayed to find himself facing an empty room, save for the abducted cleric lying on the ground near a marble archway in the middle. One set of the window shutters had been left open, letting a stream of moonlight into the chamber.

The High Prelate came up from behind, torch in hand. "Is she alive?"

Charell groaned as the torchlight shone over her face. Leaving the Prelate to check on the woman, Rennemar slowly circled around to the open window, holding his weapon at the ready in case some unseen threat remained.

"They've already gone," Charell managed to get out. She grimaced and lightly touched a hand to the back of her head as she was helped into a sitting position. "Priestess Sha- I mean, former priestess Shademoor was right. A wayward celestial has control of the Sigil of the Fallen."

"But then why return here?" Rennemar asked.

"They made me remove the wards on the artifact."

The Prelate crossed his arms and looked down at her. "They?"

She nodded. "The celestial, a vampire of some kind, and… uh, an elf." The last bit came out as a mumble, but the Prelate more than made up for her lack of volume.

"An _elf_?! The Bloodletter… it was him, wasn't it?!"

"Well, yes, I believe so, sir. But he told me that he only meant to impede–"

Prelate Saudere began barking orders as other knights and clerics emerged from the stairwell. "Use whatever divinations are at your disposal; I want to know how they penetrated this room, and I want to know who these vile beings are that dare to stand alongside the Bloodletter." He turned back to the cleric. "Where did they escape to? Did they mention a word of their plans?"

Rennemar helped the young woman to her feet, and she pointed out the open window to the south as she leaned against the column. "They mentioned something about the Old Quarter, something involving the magic behind the Sigil."

"Then I want to know everything about this… 'Sigil', and why it fell into Caden's hands of all people."

(2:24)

"I'd feel terribly humiliated right about now, were I not so utterly terrified." Cerdan mumbled under his breath. He looked down as they flew past the building-tops. "Hey, I think I can see my house from here."

In truth, they weren't so much _flying _as they were _gliding_. The extra weight from carrying both elves likely made it harder for the celestial to remain aloft. Regardless, they were already fast approaching the city's Old Quarter, due to the odd wind that Cyrael seemed to constantly expel. Cerdan chuckled at that thought.

All outhouse humour aside, the celestial was proving himself to be far stronger than he both looked and felt. As Cerdan hung from one of the winged man's arms, he thought he could almost feel the celestial's bones directly through the fabric of his coat sleeves.

Cyrael turned slightly, and they began to slow as they circled down toward one of the many dilapidated and neighbourhoods of the abandoned district. They set down in one of the larger clearings in the street.

"This will be close enough between points," Cyrael said to Lenthyrr as she handed him the green cube. With a single glance, the celestial appeared to size up Cerdan, and for a moment the rogue feared this might be the breaking point. Instead, Cyrael merely folded his wings tightly to his body and began walking away to the south.

As Cerdan moved to follow, Lenthyrr caught him by the shoulder. "No, he goes on alone. You and I shall make our stand here against our collected foes, in the name of all who perished at Caden's Hill."

"Right…" Cerdan murmured. He swept a hand around, gesturing at the empty clearing. "Just _look_ at all these guys. Goodness me, there are so many, I can't even count!"

"A collective army made up of the Knights of Tyr, the city guard, and any local adventurers' guilds will be converging on our location soon." As if anticipating his next question, Lenthyrr added, "Because I intend to summon them to our presence immediately."

If she was anyone else, Cerdan would have expected her to follow up with a joking laugh or a knowing smirk, but it was clear from her stone-faced expression that neither was forthcoming. _Good gods, she's actually serious_. Her delusions about him being a saviour for elvenkind were cute enough, but now she was entering a madness of ridiculous proportions.

"And we're supposed to fight the entire armed forces of Baldur's Gate with a single blade between the two of us?" He let his hand touch the hilt of his sword, wondering if he'd have to use it _now _against present company. "Really now, you would need to have some pretty crazy magical talent to think of standing even a pixie's chance against–"

The vampire turned her back to the elf and put both her hands out, palms down, forming a triangle with her fingers and thumbs. She held that pose for a long period, and Cerdan began to wonder if she was casting a spell or had fallen asleep.

The ground started to shake, and Cerdan jumped slightly as a black marble panel burst up from the ground in front of them, like a giant onyx tooth. Dust began to kick up into the air as similar shiny vertical panels appeared, forming a large circle around the clearing. A second layer of dark metal began to appear, building and growing atop the black material like it was alive. In mere minutes, a complete cylindrical base had been formed in the previously empty clearing, and Cerdan could vaguely guess at what was happening here.

"You're summoning a twin to the tower of Tyr. Only a bit narrower… and the colour is wrong." He could see the similarities in the structure's texture and design.

The elven vampire groaned slightly and staggered backward, clutching the sides of her head. Cerdan made no move to support her. "A most demanding spell. Something I learned from a wise man in the Anauroch. Not an exact replica, but it will serve its purpose well enough. The knights wouldn't dare pass up such a blatant challenge to their precious pride." She steadied herself and lowered her head, appearing to drink in the moonlight. The vampire bent down and scooped up a handful of pebbles from the ground, which she placed in a pocket on her robe. "They will come en masse like moths to a bonfire. And we shall soak the earth red with blood and tears…"

In mid-tirade, she reached out to the side and grabbed Cerdan by the front of the tunic, dragging him closer as the tower artifice continued to grow and self-construct.

_Yep, she's definitely brain-burned_, thought Cerdan. "Well, it's like I always say: if you've got to die, die in the craziest, most insane and nonsensical way you possibly can."

(2:41)

"Why are we still standing here in the streets?" asked the minstrel. "I can see your temple from here."

"Shh." Selena ignored the question and focused on the copper ring on her finger. The Prelate would take her into custody the moment she stepped through the tower gates. Even if she sent Nell in alone, there was a risk that Nell would say who sent her. Then Saudere might turn his wrath upon the poor minstrel.

_Just hope Charell is still wearing the ring I gave her before I left_. The elf closed her eyes and centred herself. She spoke aloud, hoping the enchanted ring would carry her words to her friend. "If you can hear me, don't say a word."

"Why? You don't like the sound of my voice?" asked Nell, clearly unaware of what she was doing.

Charell's voice echoed in the elf's mind. "Uh, excuse me for a moment."

Assuming that her friend was moving away from another conversation, Selena continued. "Charell, there is a Waterdhavian girl that I'm sending to the tower. She's been through an ordeal already, so try to keep her away from the High Prelate's attention. No doubt the–"

"Wait," Charell whispered, "The High Prelate is occupied enough as it is. Caden the Bloodletter and the celestial you were looking for, they both showed up here a few minutes ago and made me remove the wards from one of the Sigils."

"They _what_?!"

"Prelate Saudere is gathering as much manpower that can be spared and is planning to take a squadron toward the Old Quarter in pursuit."

"What could possibly lead Cyrael to go there?" Selena wondered aloud as she craned her head around the building corner, looking south. "Wait… where did _that_ come from?" A twisting, blackened spire, about half the height of the Tower of Tyr and counting, stood prominently above the city's southern skyline in the moonlight.

"The tower, I take it? It appeared there just a few minutes ago, and it's growing fast. That celestial of yours isn't one for discretion, is he?"

"Actually, he is…" It didn't make sense when she thought about it. All the lies and layered plans Cyrael had orchestrated since this all started, only to follow up with a blatant, giant eyesore for everyone in the city to see? "It's a feint. It must be."

"But to what end?"

The elf shook her head. "Perhaps he wants a chance to be rid of the city's armed forces all at once. I'll have to look into this myself. In the meantime, expect to receive the Waterdhavian girl at the front gates in a few minutes." Selena paused a moment before delivering her last instructions. "Charell, there is one last thing I need you to do for me when this is all over, in case I'm unable to carry it out myself."

"Of course, anything."

"Don't be so quick to agree just yet. What I'm about to ask might mean the end of the city's trust in the Church of Tyr. It's not something I want to see done, but to let it slide would be an even greater miscarriage of justice. So listen close, and decide for yourself if this is the right course…"

(2:51)

"The tower stands to the south, sir."

"I can see that," snapped Saudere. "But what of its defenses? Have we the manpower to seize that fortress?"

"It's a _magical_ construct, so there's no telling what dark arts they're using," said Sir Rennemar.

The Prelate frowned but added nothing more, knowing that the knight would be outraged if he became aware of what Saudere was planning to do. Glancing back at the column of paladins and the few clergymen that would accompany them, the Prelate focused his eyes on the covered chest that was being guarded by his Royal Horsemen. None of his men had been told what lay within; they were all loyal enough to do their duties without yielding to curiosity. They probably assumed it contained religious tools.

Saudere knew there was some slim chance that the Bloodletter might still possess some lingering power from the Behemoth's Heart, despite what the elf claimed, so an appropriate countermagic was brought along under close guard with the Prelate's entourage when he arrived at Baldur's Gate.

In the back of his mind, Saudere questioned whether his superiors would approve of such a drastic measure. Likely not. The creature that lay dormant within the sealed chest would be enough to consume even the Behemoth's magic once awakened. Releasing it, however, might even be as equally destructive as letting the Behemoth roam free. But there was little recourse; Caden had to be eliminated to serve two fronts. The elf's death would protect his colleagues in the Church of Tyr, and at the same time it would tie up a loose end, assuring Saudere's position among his… _other_ associates.

"Better to release the evil I _do_ know than risk the evil I _don't_."

Rennemar turned to the Prelate. "Beg your pardon, sir. Did you say something?"

He shook his head. "No… nothing at all."

**(3:00 AM)**


	23. All too Human

**All too Human**

**(3:00 AM)**

"Can we stop for a moment?" Cerdan asked. It was bad enough having to climb so many stairs. It was made worse by the fact that every surface of the tower interior seemed to be covered with tiny black thorns. He'd certainly need a new pair of boots when this was all over.

"No rest for the righteous, Caden."

Cerdan wasn't actually tired, but he did his best to appear fatigued, making a show of staggering slowly up each step and panting heavily. He wasn't skilled or desperate enough to attack the vampire outright, so he'd have to settle for slowing her down.

"That's quite easy for you to say," he wheezed. "Bloody undead can go on forever." Lenthyrr halted suddenly. "Oh, what, is that another sore point for you? Did the Church of Tyr raise you as a vampire or something?"

"No," she replied coldly, "I survived the massacre at the Hill. I entered the realm of undeath years later in a separate incident." She continued her ascent but didn't elaborate, and Cerdan had a feeling it would be a poor choice to press her further.

"I've gone along with you thus far," he said, changing approach. "But I still feel like I'm in the dark about everything that's happened since yesterday. Okay, so that first Sigil must've either made Cyrael unkillable, or it restored that stone statue to flesh or something, right?"

"Both, in fact."

"But what about the second Sigil? Or that wild magic thing? And how do these things relate to–"

"The Behemoth's Heart," Lenthyrr finished for him. "There are many separate branches in the river that is magic. Yet they all flow from the same basic source; the artifacts use the same arcane or divine or wild energy that flows through our world. In the hands of a skilled spellbinder, they can be used in concert. The Behemoth is the sword, the Sigil is the shield, and the Wild Source is the fuel. Everything has its place in our quest."

The twisting stairwell opened into a room of several smooth concave walls. Cerdan assumed they were near the top of the tower. In the centre was a single black marble column that went no higher than chest level. A spherical indentation marked the top of the pedestal.

Cerdan paused and glanced around. "And what happens now? Do we rain flaming death on the approaching masses?"

"No." She reached into the wide sleeves of her robe as she approached the middle of the room. "Cyrael commands the flame. I prefer the power of ice." Lenthyrr placed the shimmering blue ice orb atop the pedestal, leaving the black cloak draped over the artifact.

Crossing to the opposite side, Lenthyrr pressed a hand against the wall. A grinding noise filled the chamber as the black metal breached and separated to form an oval aperture, wide enough to afford them a clear view of the tower's northern approach.

Joining her by the window, Cerdan could spot a train of torches in the distance slowly making their way toward the black tower. "You can't seriously believe that they won't be able to breach this place. We won't be able to fight that many."

"Of course they will. But I have all the weapons I need right here." From within her robe, she removed a yellow scroll, which she unravelled far enough for Cerdan to read the elvish runes at the top that marked the name of the spell.

_Imprisonment_. "You're planning to use that on whole lot of them?"

"No… merely the lone enemy that will be successful in entering this tower."

"I see…" Cerdan crossed his arms, wondering what in the hells this woman was going on about. He was going to have to act soon, but it still felt like he was only seeing half of Cyrael's plan.

(3:09)

Selena hurried down one of the many alleyways in the Old Quarter, confident that she would reach the black tower before the High Prelate's group. Saudere and his men would probably take a more roundabout path, sticking with the wider main roads and keeping in close marching order, whereas a single person could take a faster, more direct route. She knew that if Cerdan were here, he'd probably say something glib and stupid, like '_Now_ you're thinking like a thief!'

The cleric climbed over a pile of rubble in the back-alley and narrowed her eyes ahead. She had a clear view of the tower's base, not too far off in the distance. She heard the sound of something scraping against stone behind her, and she immediately turned around but saw nothing in the dark.

"Stop hiding and come out, Dace. I know you're there, criminal!" she shouted, knowing full well that it would be the dogged mercenary.

Sure enough, Dace emerged from behind a corner a few metres away. His continued pursuit wasn't unexpected in the least. The bloody killer had to be one of the most obsessive people she'd ever met. What _was _surprising, however, was the small figure he was pulling behind him by a rope. Nell had a weary look in her eyes and a gag over her mouth.

Selena could barely find the words. "You –"

"Yes, I did," he replied, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Do not try to lecture me again, it is fast tiring. I brought the girl here, so now you have no choice but to make use of her abilities. Unless you would care to send her wandering back through an unfamiliar city on her own?"

"You're horrid!" she said, moving forward and tearing the cloth away from Nell's mouth.

"Hate this city…" the minstrel muttered.

_Damnation_, Selena thought, _I swear, after today…_

"I don't have time to look after both of you," the cleric said, "But know this, blackheart, if you harm this girl any further, by all that is holy, I'll see you suffer for your crimes!"

"Threats are not your strong point, elf. Moreover, I have no need to harm her; she may be of use later, and poses absolutely no threat to me."

Focusing on Nell, Selena placed her hands on the girl's shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Listen to me, I'm sorry, but I can't see you to safety until after I've investigated that black tower." Nell gave an unconvincing nod but remained silent, glaring at Dace. "And you," Selena pointed at the mercenary. "I intend to go into the tower alone. I don't need or want your type of 'help', so keep out of the way. You are _not_ the leader here, and after all I've had to put up with from you, I'm not afraid to bring this to blows. Understand?"

Her other hand twitched slightly as it touched the handle of her mace beneath her cloak. Right now she was too furious at the blackhearted man to pursue a more diplomatic solution with him. Dace merely shrugged, and then used his dagger to cut the ropes that were binding Nell's wrists.

_I hope that's a small victory, at least,_ Selena thought to herself as she continued to lead them toward the tower in the south.

(3:17)

A disturbing grin had appeared on Lenthyrr's lips as she peered through Cerdan's spyglass at the approaching army. "Yes, I believe they are within range now. Time to begin."

Cerdan scratched his head and glanced back at the covered ice orb behind them. "Seems rather far to hit with that thing. And only good for one throw, really."

"The orb is simply the source of the magic." Lenthyrr said as she took a pebble from her pocket. The rogue watched as she removed the cloak from the ice sphere, tossed the garment to the floor, and then pressed the pebble against the ice artifact. She closed her eyes a moment and he could hear her whispering an incantation of some kind.

As she finished, Lenthyrr took the pebble to the window and held it up between her thumb and finger, as if she was about to flick it. Instead, she spoke another word and the tiny stone blasted away from her hand in the direction of the approaching column of knights. Squinting at the night's sky, Cerdan immediately lost sight of the pebble.

Lenthyrr made a sudden gesture with her other hand, going from fist to spread fingers. At the same time, a jagged chunk of blue ice exploded into being in mid-air over the advancing army and plummeted down, causing a number of visible torch flames to either scatter away or wink out completely as the ice boulder struck the ground and splintered.

Even so far away, Cerdan thought he could hear the cries of shock and panic coming from the small humans. He looked at Lenthyrr and saw that the smile on her lips seemed to stretch her face in an odd way, creating lines around her cheeks that made her look like a madwoman.

"Ah yes," she whispered, "The fruits of revenge bear such sweet taste."

(3:23)

Dace glanced back at the others and barked, "Stop lagging. Must I always resort to threats to provoke haste?"

"The girl here is tired, and _I'm _tired of hearing your barbs every time you open your mouth," the elf shot back. "What could possibly drive a man to be as cruel and base as you? Did your impoverished parents beat you as a child?"

_That_ put Dace on the verge of a laugh. His childhood had been a particularly happy one, but he'd sooner die before revealing that fact to some conceited idiot like her. She would probably have a day of glee picking over his past.

"Cruel as it is, I _chose_ my path freely, faithmonger. Poorer is the person who lives with a life forced upon them, particularly one of indoctrinated servitude. Damned fanatics."

"…Are you saying something about _me_?"

_Figure it out yourself,_ he thought as they reached the end of the alley. The passage opened to what must have been an empty clearing in the streets of the Old Quarter before the black tower appeared. The doorway at the tower base seemed to beckon them forward.

"Both of you stay here," ordered the woman. "Stay out of sight in case the Prelate's army arrives after I go in."

"And just what do you hope to accomplish alone, elf? You are hardly threatening enough to even scare a goblin. This is a problem that can only be solved with sheer force."

Her tone became sharper. "It may be inconceivable to your kind, but I still believe there is hope for a peaceful resolution. _Stay _outside."

"Very well. But you are making a mistake," he replied, adding the word '_idiot'_ in his mind. If the useless woman was fool enough to walk straight to her death, it was not his concern. Besides, it would be better to wait for the rest of the faithmonger army to show up and distract the tower occupants before rushing in headlong.

Selena moved over to Nell and began whispering a few words with the girl, momentarily glancing over at Dace, as if they were conspiring against him. They were hardly a threat to him combined, let alone separated, so he simply crossed his arms and waited. When the elf was done speaking, she crossed the clearing and cautiously approached the black structure without sparing another word on the mercenary. As soon as she stepped inside the door's threshold, the walls of the tower creaked slightly as they began to shift, abruptly sealing over the door with flat black marble.

(3:32)

"Ahem, I hate to interrupt your gleeful manslaughter," Cerdan began, "but how is any of this going to achieve anything? You can't expect to wipe out all humanity from a single tower overnight. It's all a diversion from something else, isn't it? Cyrael's doing something elsewhere, I take it?"

She didn't look away from the window as she continued tossing ice-ensorcelled stones out at the approaching army. "Indeed. This place is merely provides the flame for the moths."

"You really don't think highly of them, do you?"

With a sweeping motion, Lenthyrr hurled the rest of the pebbles in her hand, bringing an entire wall of ice boulders down in the middle of the army's path to the tower. Cerdan felt somewhat glad that Selena was well away from all this mayhem. The cleric wouldn't last five minutes against Lenthyrr.

To his question, the elven vampire responded, "Caden, let me pose to you a question. Why is it, do you think, that the elves have made so little progress over the past few millennia?"

Cerdan wondered why she was merely staring forward without continuing her magical assault, but decided it was best to keep her mind off their slowly advancing opponents. "What sort of progress do you mean? We've established new forms of magic, strongholds in Evermeet and Evereska, and there–"

"I meant in terms of military force and population. There have been few true advancements for our kind, only compromise and loss as our people shirk back into dwindling forests. Not 'strongholds' as you say; refugee camps. Our lands are torn from our grasp and little by little the elvish races are forced to retreat to a rapidly shrinking number of safe havens."

"Elves still exist in great numbers throughout the realms. What are you talking about?"

"No. Elves are forced to integrate into _human _cities and cultures, conditioned into thinking and acting like little more than humans with pointed ears. Even you seem to have fallen prey to this corruption." She raised the hood of her cloak, but Cerdan had no doubt that there was a wide sneer on her face.

"And our people," she continued, barely raising her voice above a whisper, "merely sit back and permit the humans to proliferate and spread like vermin. Is our inaction because we're long-lived, so we simply take things slower? Absolutely not. The Dale Reckoning was a mistake, you see. Elves were once on the path to becoming the dominant race on Faerun. Now humans are the bearers of that title, not by ingenuity or virtue, but through sheer _attrition_, of all things."

"Yes, yes, of course. But what does any of this have to do with Cyrael?"

"Even now, he prepares the Behemoth's Heart. As I said, it is to be the sword of our vengeance."

"I don't understand why you keep going on about the Heart. We already know it's gone dormant."

She slowly raised a hand to her face, touching her lips. "Again, you fail to understand. The Heart's connection with the Behemoth's power – with _you_ – has been renewed with your touch. Cyrael need only cast the right spell upon the crystal, and the Behemoth shall walk again. Why do you think it was so important for you to remain here with me?"

"… Oh, hells." Cerdan finally understood it – she wasn't simply planning to wipe out the approaching army with the ice shards… she wanted to unleash the Behemoth on them.

"The Behemoth's power was exhausted at Caden's Hill, because it held only a finite source of magical energy. But aided with the perpetual magic of the Wild Source, the Behemoth can go on to wipe this dismal city from the face of Toril. With that done, we shall turn our gaze north, to Waterdeep, and–"

Cerdan suddenly pivoted, driving his heel into the back of Lenthyrr's left knee. As strong as she was, the vampire was taken by surprise and collapsed forward on one leg. The elf then slammed his elbow into the back of her skull, knocking her down as she grasped the side of the tower's window opening.

Wasting no time, the elf grabbed the enchanted cloak from the ground and used it to scoop the ice sphere off its pedestal. Clutching the wrapped artifact under one arm, the rogue dashed toward the door and began to hurry down the steps, hoping he still had time to flee the building and find Cyrael before the Heart was activated.

(3:42)

"Hnnh. About time they arrived," Dace said as he peered at the troops approaching from down the street.

Nell peeked out from within the alley as well, silently gauging how far she would have to dash before the knights would be able to spot her in the dark. Despite what the elven cleric said to her earlier, Nell figured she would have better chances with the paladin army than with this criminal in a dark alley.

Just as she was bracing herself to make a run for it, the mercenary pointed two fingers at her face and stepped out of the alley, toward the army. "Remain where you are and watch the tower. I must investigate this. You _know _what will happen if you defy me." Without explaining further, Dace began walking closer toward the knights of Tyr.

Grumbling under her breath, Nell folded her arms and leaned against the wall, satisfied, at least, that the maniac was finally leaving her alone for now.

(3:46)

"Ah, the greatest tragedy," Lenthyrr whispered to herself, "is when a man, once so brave, falls so far and commits himself to treachery." Cyrael was right, after all. It left no small pain in her otherwise hollow heart to know for certain now that Caden would never willingly champion their cause again. All that she could do now was honour the oath they had all sworn before Caden's Hill and carry on their crusade. She would remember Caden's Hill, even if the Bloodletter himself would not.

As she forced herself back up to her feet, she realized that a jagged piece of black metal had pierced her stomach when she fell. The narrow wound was lined with a black viscous gunk that she could only assume was long-congealed blood from within her body.

"Pah," she said, ignoring the wound and looking out the tower window toward the streets. Reaching a hand outside, Lenthyrr quickly traced out a round symbol in the air, which caused a green globe of light to briefly materialize in the air. Staring out across the derelict buildings of the Old Quarter, she knew that Cyrael would see the signal. The celestial was probably closer to the tower than he let on to Caden, enough to observe the Behemoth's rebirth firsthand.

But for now, it was time for Lenthyrr to deal with one other problem. She turned to the door through which Caden had left, and made a brushing gesture in the air with one hand. The black walls began to grind and shift, blocking the exit completely and creating a new doorway on the other side of the room. Closing her eyes, the elven vampire could feel the shape of the magical structure around her. Concentrating on the stairwell below her, Lenthyrr began to subtly shift the tower's form. She carefully split the spiral corridor to create two separate stairwells in the building, ensuring that Caden and the cleric would not pass each other on their respective paths.

The vampire reached into her robe and removed the imprisonment scroll. Time to give the cleric of Tyr exactly what she deserved.

(3:53)

Cyrael stood atop the rooftop of what must have once been an inn or tavern of some kind. With four floors separating him from the ground, the celestial was confident that he wouldn't be easily spotted up here, while also having a relatively clear view of the tower and the part of the clearing that the knights occupied.

The green light emanating from the tower window was the sign that Cerdan would be exiting the tower at any moment. The celestial reached into his coat pocket, and held the red crystal out in his palm. A steady red glow emitted from the artifact every few seconds, as if it was a real beating heart.

Focusing his mind on the Behemoth's Heart, the celestial could feel the renewed magical energy flowing within. He quickly recalled the spell he needed, and began to speak the syllables out loud.

(3:55)

Cerdan jumped down the last few steps, nearly tripping as his boots caught on some of the barbs in the stairs. Stumbling out the door, the elf's hopes of escaping to a safe distance sank when he saw a half dozen knights standing in a half-circle outside the tower doorway. A grinding noise sounded from behind, and the elf turned to see the tower wall seal over the passageway.

"Drop what you're carrying!" shouted an elderly man standing behind the knights. The rogue recognized him as the Prelate of Tyr from back at the temple. Eyeing the many clergy and city guards standing across the clearing behind Saudere, Cerdan decided to do as they said and carefully placed the ice sphere, still wrapped in the protective cloak, down on the dirt.

"Now, I'm sure we can talk this out," Cerdan said, slowly raising his hands, palms out. "Before anyone does something rash, you should know that–"

His voice caught in his throat as he felt a terribly familiar buzzing sensation in his ears, accompanied by an odd tingling in his stomach. It was too late. Cyrael was unleashing the Heart's power.

"I – guh…" was all he could get out as his knees suddenly buckled. It felt as if there was an expanding fire inside his chest, fighting to escape his body.

Prelate Saudere's eyes widened, evidently realizing what was happening. "Shoot him. Shoot him now! Kill him before the magic overtakes him!" he shouted, backing up and retreating toward the larger portion of the army across the clearing behind them.

The knights glanced at each other in confusion for a moment before levelling their crossbows in Cerdan's direction. Blurriness overtook his vision, and the last thing the elf could see before blacking out was the sight of the world around him becoming tinged in a furious red light.

Fifty years after the battle that irrevocably altered his life, the massacre of Caden's Hill was about to repeat itself. The Behemoth had awakened once more.

**(4:00 AM)**


	24. Ascent

**Ascent**

**(4:00 AM)**

As he waited with the larger bulk of the knights and city officers on the other side of the clearing, Sir Rennemar kept an eye shut as he peered through a metal spyglass with the other. When the elf collapsed, he assumed at first that the Prelate's men had downed him with their crossbows. Instead, the Prelate began rushing back toward Rennemar, shouting something at the others as he ran. Shifting his view back to the Prelate's other Royal Horsemen, he saw his compatriots raise their weapons to eye level and release their bolts at the elf.

When they started shooting, however, a luminescent red cloud flashed into sight around the fallen elf, and Rennemar thought he saw at least some of the bolts deflect as they struck the cloud. Wait…

He lowered the spyglass, and was stunned to see a colossal beast made of some sort of translucent red gas. It stood on four legs, making it about half the height of the black tower, but still gigantic compared to the six knights standing before it. The head resembled that of a lion, but with a wider jaw and two bright crimson embers burning as eyes.

For a moment, all the knights in front of it were as surprised as Rennemar himself. The beast let out a roar that seemed to shake the ground, and then struck out with its claw, leaving a trail of red smoke as it moved. Four of the knights were knocked aside like twigs, shattering their bodies into a bloody, metallic heap across the clearing.

The other two knights managed to recover from their shock to draw their swords, for all the good that would do against such a huge monster. Rennemar had to look away as the beast's jaws came down over them.

"Form a perimeter and hold the Behemoth!" Prelate Saudere screamed as he charged past the ranks of knights and city guards. "Let me through, move! Mages and clerics, cast your protective spells immediately!"

"What?" asked Sir Rennemar, "Sir, fighting magic with more magic is not a prudent–"

"Carry out your orders! That beast will destroy the city if we don't stop it here." The Prelate's jaw looked rigid as he spoke. "The sealed chest I brought, I must have it now. Our last hope of destroying the Behemoth lies within. Gods grant me strength to see this through."

(4:07)

Dace moved easily among the scattered ranks of knights, guards, and assorted adventurers. Half of the motley army seemed to have lost their will at the sight of the approaching monster and were trying to flee toward the safer parts of the city. The other half was hurrying forward like good little toadies to meet the creature with steel, for all the good that would do.

His attention was focused on the elderly man in religious vestments, the one shouting orders at whoever would listen. For some reason, this faithmonger was rushing away from the front lines, even though he was the apparent leader. Not the strongest sign of solidarity.

On the other hand, Dace doubted that any priest of Tyr would be the sort to favour self-preservation over the greater good. They were far too stupid for that type of thinking. Moving like an eel, Dace quickened his step, darting to either side every so often to avoid colliding with someone moving to the fore of the battle. Pushing through, the mercenary spotted the elder priest standing in front of a large stone chest; a sarcophagus flanked by a pair of knights carrying torches and crossbows.

Dace slowed down as he moved, and turned away slightly. He half-heartedly made some gestures with his hand, pretending to be directing the traffic of soldiers and knights moving around. Casually sliding closer toward the elder priest, Dace could hear what was being said.

"High Prelate, we can _feel_ the evil presence coming from the chest. Opening it would be ill–"

"Mind your place," snapped the priest, "the gods will forgive me if I make penance, but only if we survive long enough to do so. A greater sin would be to allow the Behemoth to run rampant." He gestured at the stone slab atop the chest. "Remove the lid."

The knights hesitated for an instant, but did as commanded. Passing the torch to the Prelate and setting their crossbows down, each knight grasped one end of the lid and carefully shifted it aside. Dace could have sworn he felt the air grow colder.

The High Prelate reached into the sarcophagus with both hands and lifted out an opaque grey bottle that was fixed with a large black cork on top. A breeze started to pick up as the Prelate carefully turned and pointed the bottle in the direction of the magical beast that was still tearing havoc by the tower. Before the old man could pull the cork, however, the wind abruptly multiplied in strength, turning into a maelstrom. The sudden shift caused Dace to lose his balance and force him down on one knee. Many of the knights were toppled over completely by the harsh winds and fell under the weight of their armour.

Dace looked up in time to see the sealed bottle blown from the Prelate's hands, and watched it soar through the air before a hand snatched it in mid-flight.

Cyrael hovered above the ground, wings flapping to keep him aloft amid the intense winds he was conjuring. He stared intently at the bottle, as if he could see through the opaque glass. "Far too volatile a power to be held in mortal hands. Indeed, this creature might even be enough to drain the Behemoth's essence," he said to the Prelate. His voice seemed to vibrate as it was carried on the wind. Pointing to the bottle, he added, "Unsettling that the Church of Tyr would stoop to using a creature of the Abyss as a weapon, though not surprising."

Saudere glared at Cyrael. "The Behemoth's assault won't last forever. It will deplete its power eventually and retreat back into the Bloodletter's body. To the hells with trying to contain it, this time I'll kill the elf when it does. And you'll be next, devil!"

The winds began to dies down as the celestial reached into his breast pocket and removed the Wild Source, which now appeared to glow with a steady red light, even though there were no apparent wild surges accompanying it now. "No, this time the Behemoth draws its energy from another source of magic. I've linked it to this cube. This is the new crusade, man of faith, and the Behemoth is now _our _sword. Your people truly created the perfect weapon; unyielding, unstoppable, and soon to be undying. Congratulate yourself for leaving such a enduring legacy." His wings began to flap more rapidly, elevating the celestial further up into the air.

"Not this time," Dace growled as he staggered to his feet. He moved to the Prelate's guards and lifted one of their crossbows from the ground. He took a moment to steady his aim on the winged freak's neck. Immortal or not, Cyrael would have trouble flying with a wooden shaft lodged in his spine.

He let the bolt shear the air, but the missile veered down to the left slightly, most likely due to the wind, and instead pierced the celestial's hand. Cyrael let out a surprised shout as the Wild Source was knocked form his grip and went flying across the clearing, falling somewhere between him and the tower.

"The bottle!" screamed the Prelate from the ground, "Aim for the bottle and break it!"

Dace threw the weapon to the ground and snatched up the second knight's crossbow, which still had a bolt loaded and wound. Cyrael snapped off part of the bolt in his hand and looked like he was about to yell something at Dace. But when he saw the mercenary lifting the next crossbow, Cyrael abruptly twisted himself in mid-air and spread his wings, blocking Dace's shot at the bottle.

"Damnation," Dace whispered as Cyrael flew away to the west, deeper into the abandoned district. One last gust of air swept the area, causing the mercenary's aim to waver. Lowering the crossbow, Dace began running in pursuit of the celestial, ignoring the shouts coming from the Prelate behind him.

(4:19)

The natural response was to run. But where could she go? Nell knew that she would only become lost, were she to navigate the streets in the middle of the night without a guide. And that gargantuan… _thing_ was blocking her path to the legion of knights in the distance. Not that the knights would offer any protection, of course, judging by the ease that the monster seemed to shred its way through their ranks. She turned away, and counted herself fortunate that it was too dark to see the path of blood left by the beast.

Something fell out of the sky and rolled across the ground nearby, causing Nell to leap. The sight of the telltale red glow made her heart sink. The damned magical cube… back to taunt her again.

"I knew it," she muttered, "I'm _cursed_." Stepping closer, she picked up the artifact and held it at eye level. "Why do you keep following me?" she asked the cube.

"I am _not_," said a voice from the alley behind her, "You are not that important."

She turned and took a quick step back as Dace emerged, carrying a crossbow by his side. "What do you want from me now? Haven't I suffered enough for one–"

"Shut up, brat. I have not the time for this. Give me the artifact."

"Whatever. Take it," she said, tossing it to him. _I'm so sick of seeing the thing anyway._

When Dace caught it, there was a sudden hissing noise. The mercenary screamed and dropped the red cube, gripping his smoking left hand in pain. Nell saw that a square-shaped hole was burned through the palm of the man's glove, leaving the skin underneath scalded red and raw. It almost hurt just to look at it. She looked down at her own hand, which was completely unaffected when she handled the cube herself.

Swearing under his breath, the mercenary quickly covered his hand and glared at Nell. "Fine. You are magic resistant? _You_ do something about it. That cube is what sustains the beast," he said, cocking his head at the huge monster. "Fix it."

He turned and began to hurry to the southwest, deeper into the district.

"Wait, I – what do you expect from me? That thing might kill me!" Nell shouted as she picked up the cube.

Dace yelled over his shoulder, "Survival is not a right. If you cannot even earn it, you _deserve_ your death. Try bleeding on it… or drive it up your arse, for all I care."

"A city full of freaks," she mumbled, staring down at the cube that sat quietly in her hand. The screams of dying soldiers were growing more distant as the beast made its way further from the tower. Nell groaned, wishing she had stayed at home.

As much as she disliked that psychopath, he was right about one thing… she could at least _try _to do something with the damnable cube to stop the creature.

_Crazy to think I'll bleed on it, though_, she thought to herself. Wiping the dirt off of the cube, Nell glanced up at the skies. "If anyone's up there listening, you owe me for this."

Nell always believed being born in a dead magic zone was a blessing that kept the idiotic adventurer's lifestyle outside of arms' length. Who could have guessed it would turn out to be the opposite? A disgusted look crossed her face. _Only way out of this city is past the monster… guess it's time to try something incredibly stupid._

Raising the cube closer, she tried putting the cube in her _mouth_ and sealed her lips.

(4:25)

Even as the cleric passed the threshold into the room, Lenthyrr made no move. The undead elf continued to stare out the window, watching the disorganized humans hurry around like ants. It was unsettling that the Behemoth had seemingly dissipated into red mist just now, but Lenthyrr assumed that Cyrael must have neglected to create the magical tether between the Behemoth's Heart and the Wild Source.

"I was expecting you, though not so soon," she began, listening to Selena's slow footsteps. "You missed the bloodbath down there. The Behemoth must have expended its power… an oversight on Cyrael's part, though not one that cannot be rectified."

"Where are you holding Cerdan?" the cleric demanded.

"Look yonder." Lenthyrr finally turned to face Selena and pointed down out the window. "_Caden_ lies near the tower's base, alone and vulnerable. Without the Behemoth to protect him, do you think your noble Prelate will hesitate to murder him? The Bloodletter _must_ be protected if our kind is to survive the coming decades. He would be in no danger now, if only he'd pledged himself to our cause. That was the only condition Cyrael would have imposed before using the second Sigil to grant Caden the gift of eternity."

The cleric was standing just out of arms' reach, looking quite pitiful with a small metal mace in her hand. No doubt the faithmonger wanted to be able to quickly close the distance between them if Lenthyrr began casting a spell. Of course, such a tactic worked both ways. Lenthyrr saw no casting movements from the cleric's hands, so the young fool probably believed she could fight or talk her way out of this.

"You're a monstrosity," Selena said as she glared at the mage. "The Church of Tyr demands that undead beasts like you be destroyed on sight, but I am willing to show leniency if you tell me where Cyrael is hiding."

"How grand of you. Tell me, do you know how it feels to become undead, a slave to the second life? You can imagine it must be a jarring experience even for humans, to lose so much of what they are through this magical perversion. But it is even worse for an elf." Lenthyrr took a large step forward, and the cleric started to back away. "The 'Black Thumb'; I can't touch plants without feeling them wither and die in my hands. Can you imagine that? To lose a bond with nature that was once an inherent part of your very existence?

"No, of course not. You grew up among humans, didn't you? Sheltered away in their fortresses of stone and marble, bowing and scraping to _their_ gods. As an elf, you sicken me. If this were a fair world, you would be on our side."

"If this were a fair world, there would be no need for 'sides' at all," Selena said. "There are other solutions. My people could restore your soul, or perform a resurrection–"

"By petitioning a human god? I think not. Even if your bigoted deity did permit such a thing, I'd rather die the final death than be touched by the so-called 'divinity' of your kind."

"It's all about you, isn't it? The world hurt you, so now you get even by hurting them back. I've heard it all before."

The cleric suddenly launched herself forward, swinging her mace at the side of Lenthyrr's head. While it struck with a loud crack, Lenthyrr felt no pain from the blow… it was like a light slap to her. The undead elf was more than ready for the second attack, and fluidly stepped to the side as Selena attempted to follow up with another strike. Lenthyrr caught the cleric by the wrist and the front of her robe. "I saw the carnage of Caden's Hill with my own eyes. I saw the _injustice_ your kind has wrought. Would I hurt for that? Would I _kill _for that? Oh yes, and more."

Lenthyrr lifted the cleric and threw her hard against the wall. Selena dropped her mace as her back slammed on the black metal, and Lenthyrr wasted no time taking the small weapon from the ground and hurling it out the window. "I know why you trust him. It's because you see potential for change in him. Or rather, you _think_ that's what you see in him. You assume he's true to your cause and goals, but you know nothing about him." She crouched and met Selena's eyes. "Caden isn't like you; he's one of _us_. True sylvan soldiers. And you're just another brainwashed zealot, striking down heathens in the name of some arbitrary divine code without truly weighing for yourself whether your actions are right or wrong. A puppet dancing at the end of a string."

"That's not true at all," Selena growled, rubbing her head as she tried to get up from the ground. "The Behemoth–"

"Was a weapon that _your_ kind were planning to use to commit mass murder. It must have been such a happy coincidence when Caden activated it; one more reason to decry my people as 'evil'. Don't you see how corrupt your faction is?"

Reaching into her robe, Lenthyrr removed the scroll of Imprisonment and unfurled it. "Perhaps a few centuries from now, you'll understand. This day is the turning point… humanity has run its course. But I'll grant you some small mercy; out of respect for Caden and the elvish blood that runs in your veins, you'll live to see the future we bring. But I–"

Selena suddenly whispered a word, and a burst of blue light erupted from the cleric's right hand. A glowing hammer appeared, and she thrust it up, knocking Lenthyrr in the jaw. Lenthyrr briefly remembered what pain felt like as the summoned weapon burned against her cold flesh. Holy magic… and Lenthyrr thought the cleric wouldn't put up much of a fight. Falling over, the elven vampire let go of the scroll and grabbed the pedestal in the centre of the room to keep from landing on the floor.

The cleric snatched the scroll from the ground and held it away from Lenthyrr, crumpling it in one hand as she stuffed it in a pocket on her robe. "I'm not as defenseless as you think. A bolt of glory is enough to kill you, so tell me where Cyrael is before I send you back to whatever afterlife you clawed up from."

Lenthyrr allowed herself a slight grin. "Your words are so much hot air. We both know you won't kill me… even if your code demands it. I learned much about you in preparation for our quest; your nature is far too removed from violence to even–"

The spiritual hammer struck Lenthyrr again in the side of the jaw, sending her stumbling to the window. She could feel her flesh burning away where the weapon struck. Now she had trouble opening her mouth to speak. "That was nothing. You cling to an outdated ideal; you still don't have a heart steely enough to kill a person, even undead. I would have granted you your life and a chance to see a better world, after the coming crisis had passed," Lenthyrr said through clenched teeth. "You stand there now, ready to dole out your righteous fury. But if you stood before _him_ on that vengeful day fifty years ago, would you be prepared to do the same? Would you deny him that chance to become the man he is today?"

"You're undead."

"This has nothing to do with the second life, this has _always _been about ideology! Am I less worthy of mercy than he is, since you share acquaintance with him and not myself? Over the past fifty years, I've killed dozens of zealots, so-called knights and priests of your black order, all of which deserved death. In a single day, he killed thousands of elves, none of which were guilty of anything but serving the protection of their families."

Selena glared daggers at Lenthyrr, but kept her distance. "You may blame us for what happened before, but that doesn't exempt you for what is happening _now_. I think your hatred has made you delusional."

"I don't give a damn what you think. Everything I've done today has been for the betterment of elvenkind. It's simply the wild law out there; a species must usurp others or be destroyed. It is a harsh lesson to learn, and I don't think you are capable of understanding that." Lenthyrr added, "It doesn't matter what happens to me now. Cyrael has all that he needs to save our race from humanity."

"He won't. Submit to us, help us prevent more death, and I can guarantee your life." Selena advanced on Lenthyrr, moving her hands in preparation of another spell.

Lenthyrr glanced out the window. The knights seemed to be regrouping in the distance, and were probably preparing for another move against the tower. Caden still lay vulnerable below as well. She turned her eyes on Selena. "My life ended a long time ago. Even facing oblivion, I've tasted victory." Lenthyrr took a step back and turned, then planted her hands against the base of the large window as she vaulted over the side of the tower.

_I'll survive the fall, but you won't_. She closed her eyes as wind whistled past her ears and focused on a feather fall spell to slow her drop. As she spoke the words, gravity seemed to relax its hold on her, and she continued to plummet, but at a more gentle speed. Next, she turned her thoughts to the magic that held the tower in place. Concentrating on the symbols in her memory, she mentally broke the conjuration and then heard a low rumble come from the black structure.

She still had less than a minute before the tower completely fell to pieces. That was all the time she'd need to quickly grab Caden and carry him to a safer location. All that–

A huge burst of pain exploded in her side, accompanied by a streak of light shooting down from above. She flailed her arms ineffectually, and twisted in mid-air in time to see Selena move away from the balcony. The bolt of light had torn through her hip at the joint, and now her left leg seemed to be dangling off her body by mere strands of charred flesh. As the magic from the attack faded, so too did the pain, but that didn't make the injury any easier to look at.

Distracted by the damage to her body, she unexpectedly hit the ground on her side and felt a cloud of dust billow up around her.

(4:37)

When the cleric emerged from the tower, Nell felt a small wave of relief pass through her. Selena frantically waved her arms at the woman, and pointed toward the unconscious elf lying near the tower base. As Nell started toward them, she felt a very slight tremor move through the ground. A huge black sheet of metal fell into the dirt mere metres from Nell's position, digging deep and embedding itself like a slanted monolith.

She broke into a run, and closed in on the elves just as Selena was gathering up what looked a sparkling blue globe in a dark cloth.

"Take his arm," ordered Selena, seizing the fallen elf by one shoulder. "Help me move him to – no, I meant his _other_ arm – the tower's coming down, hurry!"

Nell quickly used both hands to grab him by the forearm, and they started to pull him away from the tower. Several more metallic panels started landing in the clearing, and Selena and Nell had to weave a path around the falling debris with the unconscious elf in tow.

(4:40)

Rolling onto her stomach, Lenthyrr pushed herself up on her forearms and glanced around, and saw Selena with someone else a short distance from the tower, dragging Cerdan away from the tower. She dug her fingers into the hard earth and clawed her way forward, pushing along with the one good leg. All she had to do was crawl over, and perhaps she would be able to call out and–

Before she had moved even a metre, a door-shaped shard of black metal came down and crashed into the ground, jutting out of the soil at an odd angle, enough to block her path. A few seconds later, a shard about half the size of the first one came down, this one cleaving directly through her back.

(4:42)

"I don't understand it, sir. First the Behemoth just… evaporates, and now the black spire seems to be breaking into pieces."

"Tyr answers our devotion with victory this day," Saudere said to Sir Rennemar. _Or that man in black was able to shatter the bottle… but then why is there no sign of the demon that lay dormant within?_

He shook his head. "No matter. Have the remaining men search the site for the Bloodletter. I want him found and kept incapacitated if he's still alive."

"We'll have to wait for the rest of the tower to crumble, sir. It's far too hazardous to simply–"

A young acolyte scurried up to the pair and tugged on the arm of the High Prelate's robe.

"What – Villet, is it? What do you want, boy?"

The child scratched his head and pointed a thumb in the direction of the tower of Tyr. "Sir, a number of the city's resident faithful request your return to the tower."

"Not now, boy, we are in the middle of a crisis."

"But sir, she – one of the clerics, Charell, says that clergy under your direction are engaged in illegal activities."

Saudere folded his arms, shaking his head at this nonsense. "Preposterous. Tell her I've better things to do then waste time on fabricated–"

"She also said to mention some sort of red documents that they confiscated from your quarters."

_Damnation_. Saudere felt his legs weaken slightly. If they were in possession of the Cardinal Scrolls… damnation, he had been assured that the lock of his quarters could not be breached in his absence.

"Sir, are you unwell?" asked Rennemar.

The High Prelate took a deep breath and steadied himself, then pointed toward the tower. "Direct the search once the area is secure, make certain the Bloodletter is found. I must attend to this matter at the temple."

"As you say, sir."

The Prelate waved two of his Royal Horsemen over. If they had confiscated all the documents in his quarters and knew what information they contained, then he might need protection. Saudere fastened his robe tightly and straightened his back before stepping after the acolyte. "Lead on."

(4:48)

Cerdan rubbed his eyes as the world returned to him in a dark blur. As his vision cleared, he saw Selena and Dace standing nearby, as well as that girl from the cave beneath Waterdeep. In the girl's hand was the glowing green cube that Cyrael had taken. How she managed to acquire it was beyond him.

The rogue propped himself up against the wall behind him and called out to the others. "I thought you lot were still in Waterdeep. Did I miss anything important?"

Selena came over and helped him to his feet. "That undead woman tried to use this imprisonment spell on me." She lifted a crumpled scroll partway out of a pocket on her robe for him to see. "The tower collapsed after she jumped from the window to try and reach you before the rest of my Order did. Doubt the fall was enough to kill her, though I managed to hit her with a bolt of glory before I lost sight of her. I'm not sure what happened to her after that, exactly."

"I think I saw someone in a wizard's outfit lying on the ground over there," offered the girl, pointing across the clearing to an area among the tower ruins.

"Who in the Nine Hells are you, anyway?" Cerdan asked.

"Never mind her," said the cleric, "Dace tells me he tracked Cyrael to a building, some sort of abandoned shrine south of here. I can't imagine what the celestial plans to do there."

"He still carries the Heart, doesn't he? Well, at least he doesn't have this." Cerdan reached under his leather jerkin and removed an item from one of his inner pockets. He held the Sigil out to her. "I palmed it from Cyrael back at the temple of Tyr, switched it with that protection amulet Derrick gave me. The moron didn't even ask why I wrapped it in a white cloth."

"You people aren't actually insane enough to chase after that violent angel, are you?" asked the girl, "Maybe you should get help from those knights, now that the monster is gone."

"No!" shouted the three others in unison.

"While I'm all for gathering decoys," Cerdan added, "They'll probably shoot me on sight, considering how much I stick out right now. Not too many other elves in this area, you know."

"So, what, the three of you are just going to charge after an undying immortal by yourselves? How do you even expect to hurt him, let alone beat him?"

"There is no such thing as an unbeatable foe," Dace said, "Nor do we face one now. The winged freak is fool enough to carry a bottled demon of some sort on his person that feeds upon magical energy. Break the bottle, we kill the so-called 'celestial'."

"How do you know that'll work?"

"I do not. But I will adapt should the situation require it. Not all of us are as frail and defenseless as you." He started off, leading the way to the south.

"Crazy. I think I'd rather take my chances with the knights," Nell muttered, walking in the opposite direction. "Enjoy your suicide."

"It's probably for the best," Selena said to Cerdan. "She'll take the wild magic cube away from here; I told her to go find Charell when she has the chance and inform them of all that has occurred. How are you feeling?"

"Like I just had my chest ripped open and I flooded all the streets with my spilled anger and wrath." He paused a moment, then rubbed his stomach. "No, never mind, just a little hungry. We'd better hurry after Dace before Cyrael turns the fellow into so much red paste."

She took up the wrapped ice sphere in her hand and followed after the mercenary. Cerdan glanced back at the place where the black tower had stood only a short while ago. Now the structure was reduced to a series of scattered metal panels, strewn across the clearing like broken glass. And Lenthyrr…

"Actually, Selena, you go on ahead," he called out to her. "There's something else I have to finish here. I won't be long."

"But the knights know you're here. They'll be scouring this area shortly."

"I won't be long," he repeated, waving her off. "Don't worry, I can track you down. Not too many buildings off in that direction anyway, if I recall correctly."

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in what looked like suspicion, but said nothing and continued on her way after Dace.

Cerdan hurried back to the tower ruins and began navigating through the debris that littered the area where Nell claimed she saw Lenthyrr. In the distance, he could see a few knights with torches, approaching the crumbled tower, but it was still dark enough that the humans' eyes wouldn't be able to spot him.

Over to his right, behind a particularly large piece of black metal, he heard a slow, intermittent scraping noise. Peeking around the side, he suddenly coughed and had to cover his nose. Lenthyrr was on the ground, gradually crawling away from the tower. Or rather, her upper half was. Nearby, Cerdan could see a pile of ash among the legs and lower torso of her clothing, evidently bisected from the elven vampire by yet another piece of shrapnel. A slight trial of dark, oddly viscous fluid leaked from the upper half of the woman's body. It probably wasn't blood, but the smell told him he'd be better off not knowing for sure.

As Lenthyrr noticed him, she struggled to prop herself up on her left forearm. Her mouth moved, but her attempt to form words came out like a long, tired wheeze. Apparently her lungs wouldn't take in air. Cerdan crouched down in front of her and focused on her lip movements, while listening for the faint outline of words in her wheezing.

_Cyrael must succeed_, she seemed to say. _Save our people. Sacrifices. Remember yourself. Remember Caden's Hill._

Cerdan's own lips formed a thin line as he looked into her dark eyes. He then stood up and took a few paces to the right before using both hands to pry one of the black pieces of shrapmetal out of the ground. Returning to Lenthyrr's side, he said, "I know well enough who I was, and I've learned to accept that. But Caden isn't my name any more, nor was it even mine at birth." He flipped the large shard over in his hands and checked the edge with his finger. "I do remember Caden's Hill, that's the problem."

He squatted down beside her and gripped the black piece of metal tightly, with the longest edge facing down. "You see, as pig-headed as his kind can be, that Prelate of Tyr – Saudere, or whatever his name is – he has the right idea. He wants to cover up the truth about Caden's Hill. And do you know why? Because he knows that if people _did_ learn what really happened, then someone might – no, someone _will_ find a way to either replicate the power of the Behemoth, or track me down and turn me into a weapon, just like Cyrael did.

"Will I be vilified, even long after I'm six feet under? Of course, but hey, I can live with that. Why do you think I never once returned to elvish territory after the massacre? Too many questions would be asked." He frowned and stared into her eyes. "So let's just settle on silence, shall we?"

Lenthyrr merely shook her head, returning an empty stare. _I cannot_.

His jaw began to feel rather stiff, as he knew what had to be done. "I was afraid you'd say that. Well, I've already earned a few hundred or thousand deaths to my name… one more won't change much." With that, he raised his arms high in the air, and drove the metal shard down into Lenthyrr's neck. A cloud of ash and the stink of brimstone erupted into his face as he decapitated the elven vampire, and he held the black plate in place for a moment until he was certain that the rest of her body was completely dissipated.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he released the piece of black metal and brushed the thick grey dust from his face and clothes. He stood silently for a moment, staring down at the dust-filled remnants of Lenthyrr's robe. "Hmph. Perhaps there _is_ a bit of the Bloodletter left in me, after all."

**(5:00 AM)**


	25. For a Better World

**For a Better World**

**(5:00 AM)**

Selena ran her fingers across the grooves on the temple door, tracing out the symbol adorning the face. It was caked in dirt and grime, but she could tell that it was the symbol of the dead god Myrkul. Typical. She brushed her hands off and glanced up at the sky, now a shade of grey. No doubt the sun would be rising soon. The question was whether they could afford to wait before going after Cyrael.

Dace returned from around the side of the building. "There is a breached wall in the back through which we may enter. Others may have been to this place ever since this district was abandoned. But I am certain that freak is inside, and alone."

"The more I think about this, the more convinced I am that we should get help after all. What could the three of us possibly do against someone with as much power as Cyrael?"

"If you are seeking words of inspiration from me, you will receive none," Dace pointed a finger at her face. "It will not matter if we are three or three hundred, the chances will be the same. Cyrael cannot die, so his defeat will be not be secured through sheer force or power."

"I see. Cerdan once said something to that effect: 'A hundred catapults can break the walls of a fortress, but one diseased rat can kill all inside.' You really believe your plan will work?" she asked, gesturing to the crossbow in his hands. "I don't expect my faith will grant us enough power for this."

"I do not expect your useless faith to grant any power, period. Relying on some invisible man in the sky? All I require is a clear shot at the bottle. How that opportunity comes about is on you."

The cleric stretched her arms, wondering what could possibly be taking Cerdan so long. "Yesterday, I never would have guessed that I'd be in a position like this. Working with _you_ of all people. And I'll thank you not to insult my beliefs."

"Pfah. Faith and beliefs are nothing, if not backed by competent skill and cunning. " Dace turned his back to her and started moving around the building again. "Inform me when the other elf arrives, but make haste. There is no telling what the so-called celestial is planning to do here."

(5:03)

Cyrael held the Behemoth's Heart before his left eye, staring through it at the sky above. The red crystal had lost its glow when the Behemoth dissipated. If only he hadn't lost the Wild Source in such a clumsy manner… but no matter. Even without the cube, he could still command the power of the Behemoth. If he could touch Cerdan with the artifact once more, it would simply take a day or so for the power of the Heart to replenish itself before he could try again. And he would have to find another source of wild magic, or the Behemoth would only last for a few hours at a time before expending its energy.

As always, he could rebuild. But time was starting to grow short… if only these humans could perceive the greater scope of things. The celestial shook his head and lowered the crystal.

He glanced around the room, taking note of the exits to the temple's central chamber. The room was structured much like a forum, or even an arena. The raised circular platform gave him a clear sight of the steeped rows of seats that formed elevated rings around the main stage. How many impassioned speeches praising Myrkul might have been delivered in this very place, long before the god was reduced to ash?

The stained-glass ceiling of the temple had been shattered at some point in the recent past. Shards of purple glass still littered the central floor, making it difficult to step across the large, circular platform without making loud crunching noises. At least no one would be able to sneak up on him.

And that is who it all boiled down to. Cerdan, Caden, Bloodletter, Behemoth. Even if the elf refused to pledge himself to Cyrael's cause, there were other ways to seize his reins. He only needed Cerdan _alive_, not necessarily willing. Cyrael flicked his wrists, and called his flaming swords to bear. To control the Behemoth, he needed to control Cerdan. And if the only way to keep the elf from running were to remove his legs… then so be it. The stakes were far too high to allow for mercy.

(5:06)

"I'm still not too keen on this 'plan' of his. And what, praytell, should we do to divert Cyrael? Just charge in, screaming at the top of our lungs like idiots?" asked Cerdan.

"We only need to provide a distraction. Dace will take care of the rest."

The rogue scratched his chin, cocking his head toward the temple of Myrkul. "Forgive me if I don't have the utmost faith in him. He said that the demon-in-a-jar, or whatever it is, feeds on magic. Fine and well for him, but it doesn't bode too well for either of _us_. For all I know, it might try to eat my heart. And I need that."

"Nell will inform my fellow faithful of the situation. If we do fail, others will find a way to stop him."

"Never took you to be the suicidal type. I'm sure neither of us came all this way just to be killed."

Selena shook her head. "Then what should we do? Leave? I never took _you_ to be the cowardly type."

"Only one of us needs to distract Cyrael, so before we head inside, we ought to have a contingency. Between the two of us, I'm sure we have all we need to come up with something. And I do intend to have a fighting chance, at least."

(5:09)

Charell was flanked by two paladins as she followed the path that connected the Tower of Tyr to the city street. Every step made the butterflies in her stomach flap a little harder. She could see the Prelate approaching with two of his own men and Villet in tow. Her hands fidgeted slightly as she pulled on a pair of gloves. This wasn't going to end well.

"What is the meaning of this?" Saudere demanded before Charell could say a word. "You had no right to invade my personal property and I promise that you'll be severely disciplined for this incursion!"

"Ordinarily, I would agree, High Prelate. But I don't think that will happen." Charell gestured to one of the knights at her side. He carried with him a metallic case that held several dozen red scrolls. "If you were to have me disciplined, the Grandmasters of our Order would need to be made aware of what I found. In fact, I think you are trying to intimidate me into surrendering these documents into your possession, so you can destroy them. I must confess, even I was doubtful of what Cleric Shademoor told me a short while ago…"

The Prelate turned toward Villet and made a dismissive gesture. "Begone, whelp. This is not for a child's ears." Villet frowned at both of them, but said nothing and started off toward the tower.

Charell ignored him and continued, "She told me I'd find documents that detailed your involvement in the creation and subsequent cover-up of the weapon that caused the massacre at Caden's Hill. She also warned me that the scrolls are enchanted to burn up when touched, I suppose by anyone other than _you_. It will take some magic to undo those wardings. Still, one of our clerics was able to read sections from a few of the scrolls simply by looking inside the case." She gestured to the other knight beside her, and he stepped closer to the Prelate with his hand on the hilt of his sword. "We found records of the Church's involvement in a number of projects to build magical weapons, many of which seem to be in violation of the Treaty of Caden's Hill."

The High Prelate's Royal Horsemen came forward to block the knight, but Saudere quickly waved them off. He fixed his eyes on Charell, and the young woman felt a lump forming in her throat. "Nothing inside that case is proof of anything. You have naught but words on paper. What do you intend to achieve from this? If you believe that is enough to have me convicted of a crime, then you are severely mistaken."

"Convicted, no. But there _is_ enough here to warrant an investigation into your past and current activities. And I think we both know that there _will_ be misdeeds brought to light. Conviction or not, it will have repercussions upon you."

"And you as well. If you go through with this, it will be a terrible scar upon the Order of Tyr in this city and beyond. Everything I have done has been for the good of our brethren and to bring justice by all means at our disposal." Turning to his Royal Horsemen, he said, "You are dismissed. Return to the black tower and continue the search for the Bloodletter." He folded his arms and held his head high as he returned his attention to the woman. "Do what you must, cleric, but be warned that I will do the same in the coming months."

Inhaling slowly, Charell nodded toward the knight. "Take the High Prelate into custody. We cannot formally place you under arrest, but you will be confined to a separate room until the investigation has been completed."

Saudere showed no sign of emotion as he was led away by the knight. His Royal Horsemen each gave Charell a dark glare as they made their way back to the street.

The remaining knight tapped her on the shoulder. "Shall I take this evidence back to the lower vault?"

She nodded. "But I want three of our most loyal men guarding the case at all times. I doubt the Royal Horsemen would stoop to petty thievery, but we should make no assumptions." Charell paused when she noticed that a number of local townsfolk, probably awakened by the commotion coming from the Old Quarter, were gathering just outside the field surrounding the Tower of Tyr. "What's going on over there?"

The knight pointed toward the large wooden platform that had been set up outside the gates. "Yesterday the High Prelate ordered the construction of an executioners' block. He wanted a public hanging for the Bloodletter, remember? We never had a chance to finish the hangman's beam before we were called off, so the locals probably think it's a stage for a show or some nonsense."

"Or a speech…" Charell added absently. She looked back toward the tower and watched as Prelate Saudere passed inside the building. He undoubtedly had far more influence in the higher circles of the Order of Tyr, and it would be no small feat to keep the investigation free of taint. For all she knew, the investigation might be called off before she even had a chance to present their case. Unless…

"Summon the remaining priests and a few scribes," she said to the knight. "And inform the people that we will be making a statement within the hour. I think it's past time the truth was made known."

(5:15)

It all seemed oddly familiar. Cerdan found himself navigating a labyrinthine set of old stone corridors that probably had not been used in years. The grime and decay here was probably even older than the plague that had once infested this district. Myrkul's faithful had abandoned him decades ago, after the god was destroyed, and the temple was probably on the verge of collapse. The crumbling walls of the maze were several metres tall, but the building's outer walls were much higher, giving him a clear view of an open skylight in the centre of the ceiling. It was probably getting close to sunrise. Over the past hour, the skies had slowly turned from black to grey, but Cerdan doubted sunlight would provide much advantage to this particular opponent.

As he made his way toward the centre of the shrine, he couldn't shake the thought of Derrick from his mind. There was something the merchant had once said to Cerdan about a temple of Myrkul, something about that fateful day against Verskul three years ago. The elf shook his head. It probably didn't matter. His old friend couldn't help them now.

He emerged from a downward sloping passage and found himself in a wide chamber that extended to the sides of the building. There were tiered rows of stone benches going up on either side of the room, giving the place the look of an arena rather than a temple of faith. The central part of the room was an elevated circular platform, like a sacrificial circle of some sort. He spotted something moving at the very top of one of the seating rows at the left side of the chamber. Probably Dace, moving into position.

Cyrael stood at the very centre of the platform, wings fully extended through the tears in the back of his white coat. His back was turned to Cerdan, but the elf knew the celestial would be expecting him. Keeping his eyes on the winged man, the elf slowly paced forward, moving toward the ramp that led up to the platform. Cerdan pulled his cloak close, hiding his arms and hands from view.

A loud series of cracks came from underfoot, causing Cerdan to stop and wince at the noise. Looking down, he now saw that there were shards of purple and black glass covering the ground, mostly obscured in the dark. Cyrael immediately turned toward the elf with a look of bemusement on his face. "There used to be a stained glass window with the symbol of Myrkul up there, on the ceiling. Some fool apparently shattered the glass a few years ago, back when Verskul tried to take the city." The celestial's hands were empty, but Cerdan knew the Behemoth's Heart was still somewhere on his person. So long as the rogue kept his distance, Cyrael wouldn't be able to touch him with the red crystal.

Cerdan pulled his leather gloves from a pocket and pulled them onto his hands, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

"You think you're doing something heroic, do you not?" Cyrael asked as Cerdan stepped forward and walked along the edge of the platform. "But there is more going on than you realize, even here at the end of all our paths."

"Care to illuminate me, then?" Cerdan stole a quick glance to the side, wondering where Selena was hiding.

Cyrael folded his wings close to his body. "There is no point in that. Even if you knew what was to come, you would still choose to oppose me. That is your role in your quest, as is mine. In the end, everyone is faced with a defining trial. One must be willing to make a great sacrifice, or perish. You of all people should understand this. "

Cerdan had no idea what the celestial was talking about, but he nodded his head sagely anyway, just so he wouldn't appear clueless. There was a slight bulge coming from underneath Cyrael's coat, just over his heart. As Cerdan continued to pace around the perimeter of the platform, he caught a glimpse of what looked like a corked bottle sticking out of an inner pocket. Good. Now all he had to do was make Cyrael turn so that Dace had a clear shot.

"Let me tell you this, Cerdan: the world never changes. Not with humans as the dominant species. It keeps turning from day to night and back again, without end, and these humans remain ever selfish and arrogant above all else. Do you really think anything you've done here today is for the greater good? Nothing has been accomplished; you've simply ensured that your own race, and countless others, will continued to decline until you are naught but a shadow beneath these humans. Why would you allow such an imbalance to come to pass?"

"Fine words from you. I don't see mass murder as something to bring about 'balance'." Cerdan stopped moving, and Cyrael turned to face the elf directly. Hopefully Dace wasn't an incompetent shot with a crossbow.

"A life is worthless unless it is spent in a cause for a better world."

A snapping sound echoed from the stone benches to Cyrael's right, and Cerdan braced himself, ready to dive to the ground in case he needed to. But instead of looking toward the source of the noise, Cyrael raised his arm and his flaming sword ignited his hand. The celestial swiped his arm to the side and cut the bolt out of mid-air, sending the fragments of the projectile flying across the room. The entire act happened in an instant, and for a moment even Cerdan was stunned at the celestial's speed. Cyrael didn't even seem to take his eyes off the elf.

"Do you think I am a fool? I knew the blackheart was there the moment he set foot inside this chamber. There is no –" A fist-sized rock struck him in the side of the head, and he turned in Dace's direction, summoning his second sword.

The moment the celestial took his eyes off Cerdan, the elf reached behind his cloak and removed the ice sphere from beneath the strap across his back. The sphere felt cool to the touch, even with gloves on, and the elf wasted no time raising the artifact back over his head with both hands before pitching it forward at Cyrael.

The celestial glanced back in time to see the object coming, and he reflexively raised a fire sword against the incoming sphere. Cerdan crouched low and turned his back to Cyrael, pulling part of the protective cloak over his face. A long crackling noise erupted behind him, drowning out all other sounds, and the elf felt a series of cold shocks passing through the air around him. The crackling quickly died down into a hiss, and Cerdan moved his arm to survey the effects.

Much to the elf's dismay, Cyrael was still standing, albeit with a pool of water and ice at his feet. The skin of the celestial's hands and face now seemed to be grey and cracked, but the flame swords were gone. Cerdan cautiously stepped closer as Cyrael tried to move his hands, managing to flex his fingers sluggishly. Fresh steam seemed to waft off into the air as he attempted to recall his flame swords.

"This changes nothing," Cyrael growled. "Did you think I was standing here by myself, doing nothing as I awaited your arrival? I was preparing the spell ritual that would keep you in this place until I have what I need." He glanced down at the floor beneath Cerdan's feet.

Cerdan stopped moving forward and followed his eyes down, noticing for the first time a line of symbols that were drawn on the platform in black dust, concealed beneath the pieces of broken glass. He looked up at the celestial again, and saw Cyrael finishing a hand movement through the air.

Cyrael whispered a few syllables and closed his eyes. Cerdan could feel a wind picking up in the room and heard a jingling noise as the shards of glass rattled against the floor. In an instant, the strength of the winds multiplied, lifting the debris from the ground and rapidly swirling them around the platform in a circle. Several sharp pieces of glass scraped across Cerdan's neck and back, forcing him to step forward and closer to the centre of the platform.

The elf touched the back of his neck and found that he was bleeding from what felt like several small gashes. Cyrael raised his voice so Cerdan could hear him over the sound of the winds. "These humans. You walk among them, separated so far from your own kind. And for what end? To pretend that you owe them some sort of allegiance for what you did at Caden's Hill, and atrocity that was their own doing?"

The shards of glass were too many and moving too fast for Cerdan to make it through. For now, it seemed that he was trapped inside the vortex atop the platform with Cyrael. "I'm not stupid enough to blame an entire species for the actions of a few zealots, no matter how much I wanted to."

"So instead you hide from the truth, drifting along wherever the road takes you? Inaction bred through fear." The celestial experimentally flexed his hand into a fist, and Cerdan could tell that Cyrael was already starting to heal from the damage of the ice sphere. "Do you know what makes us alike? Neither of us belongs here, in this human hive."

"I agree. I should have run off to Waterdeep along with Derrick. You never would have managed to release the Behemoth there."

"No. I mean that we are both pariahs, our names struck down by our own people because we _dared_. To save our respective people through means that no one else would even consider. To question the human dominion over Faerun. To do whatever was _needed _to rectify the imbalance. Humanity will bring about ruin for Faerun if they are left unchecked."

"I won't make any excuses for humans, because I really don't care; I'm not supporting a crusade for anyone's side, right or wrong. But killing thousands of people isn't going to help whatever problem you think you're fighting."

Cyrael slowly began to pace around the perimeter of the platform, stepping just barely away from the wind barrier. Cerdan circled as well, squinting through the flying debris and wondering where Selena and Dace were, and if they would be able to do anything.

"Again, you are afraid," Cyrael continued, "That is the greatest difference between our paths. I am at peace with what I am and what must be done. I need not entrench myself among humanity as you have, enshrouding yourself in some false guise in the hopes that humans will 'accept' you. Truly, Lenthyrr was correct; over the past fifty years, you have fallen so far to become a traitor to your cause.

"And so our respective journeys draw to a close… here at the end of our private little war. It's exactly the way any proper war should end, wouldn't you agree? There is no one else here to judge us. No more artifacts, intrigues, or layered plans. Just two men standing alone, warrior to warrior, among the ruins of an old battleground. We are both leaders and executioners in the name of our causes. "

Cerdan reached up and removed the cloak from his shoulders; it was far too liable to get carried away in the wind wall and pull him along with it. "I've never cared much for a title like 'leader', and certainly not 'executioner'. It's just not who I am." He drew his sword as Cyrael began to stride across the platform, closing the gap between them.

"Then what are you? After all that has transpired both today and before, into what have you been forged?"

"If you win, maybe I'll tell you." Cerdan held his sword with his arm slightly to the side, anticipating a sudden charge. "At least one of us is bound for the Nine Hells. And I know you need me alive."

"And I cannot die from any blow you can strike." Cyrael shrugged and removed the Behemoth's Heart from his pocket, holding it up in his grasp for Cerdan to see. "Then it shall be as you say, for the sake of all our tomorrows. No peace in our time."

The celestial seemed to move with a sudden burst of speed, and nearly clipped Cerdan on the head with the red crystal. The elf pivoted to the side and grabbed Cyrael by the wrist, trying to force the Behemoth's Heart away. Cyrael used his other arm to strike the elf across the chest, knocking him off his feet across the platform.

Rubbing his chest, Cerdan rose to his feet and thrust his sword forward, impaling Cyrael in the abdomen as he closed in on the elf. The wound didn't even faze the celestial, and he grabbed Cerdan by the arm, wresting the elf's hand away from the weapon. The sword fell to the ground and the celestial kicked it away to the opposite side of the platform.

The rogue pulled back and then slammed his forehead into Cyrael's face. There was a wet cracking sound from the celestial's nose, and Cyrael momentarily staggered back a step, releasing his hold on the elf. Seeing his chance, Cerdan shoved forward and used both hands to seize Cyrael by the forearm and push the celestial's hand into the wind wall.

The red crystal was knocked loose from the celestial's grasp and flew into the swirling airs, joining the flying shards of glass in the barrier around them. Quickly retracting his arm, Cyrael grabbed Cerdan by the neck with his other hand, lifting the elf from the ground. As his feet dangled in the air, the rogue started to choke and cough.

Pulling the elf close, Cyrael stared directly into his eyes. "This is over, there is nothing to be served by either of our deaths. I've studied your ways. You could kill yourself to stop me, but you would never do that; you love yourself far too much."

He threw Cerdan away, and the elf landed hard on his back, sprawled on the floor a few metres away. "Did you actually come here thinking you could defeat me alone like this? That you could somehow outfight me?" Cyrael demanded, "Perhaps I was right after all. It is because you think of yourself as an unyielding leader or executioner."

Cerdan shook his head as he forced himself up into a sitting position. "No," he managed to croak out. The rogue held up his gloved hand. Held between his finger and thumb was a small black object. "Because I'm a thief."

It was a black cork.

The look of confusion on Cyrael's face suddenly melted into one of shock. The celestial glanced down at the pocket on the inside his coat. The bottle that contained the demonic entity was now open and rapidly leaking a smoky red mist.

Cerdan enjoyed the dumbfounded expression that Cyrael gave him as the bottle suddenly exploded. The red mist quickly spread out, coiling around the celestial's body like a floating snake. Cyrael flailed about, making a feeble attempt to seize or knock away the incorporeal creature, but he might as well have been striking at the air. One end of the line of mist briefly hovered at eye level, forming what looked like the head of a serpent. The demonic serpent reared its head back and snapped forward, sending three tendrils of mist into Cyrael's eyes and mouth.

There was what appeared to be a short flash of red light from within the celestial's mouth, and he collapsed forward, falling on his hands and knees. The wall of wind and glass suddenly stopped – it did not slow or gradually die down, it simply _stopped_. Shards of glass shattered into even smaller pieces as they fell against the ground around Cerdan. Just as abruptly, however, the red mist shot away from Cyrael like a lightning bolt, making a direct line for the Behemoth's Heart which had fallen to the platform nearby. Cerdan saw the mist gather around the crystal for a few seconds before shooting off a second time, this time through the open skylight on the ceiling, and it disappeared into the sky above in a streak of crimson.

The elf returned his eyes to Cyrael, who was still on his hands and knees and seemed to be gasping for air. Wasting no time, the rogue ran forward and kicked the celestial in the stomach, knocking him over onto his back. Cerdan was about to stomp on his throat, but he noticed the sword wound on Cyrael's stomach. There was a golden light coming from the wound as it sealed itself before his eyes. The demonic entity wasn't enough to remove Cyrael's immortality.

Cyrael seized the elf by the ankle and pulled him off balance, causing Cerdan to collapse forward and hit his face against the stone floor. Pain exploded from his nose, and the elf could taste blood leaking down the back of his throat. Cyrael got to his feet and grabbed Cerdan by the hair, then slammed the elf's head against the floor again. There was a cracking noise from his jaw as he impacted, and the elf thought he could feel at least one tooth breaking off.

"You… can't deny our shared fate, Cerdan." Cyrael's voice sounded forced and raspy, as he flipped Cerdan over to glare into the elf's eyes. "My quest, my destiny must be fulfilled… and your defiance will earn you no quarter. The Behemoth will walk again, and willing or not, you will also fulfill your part in this. Did you think I would meet my end against a demon that likely spent several centuries in an imprisoned and weakened state? Was that to be the last attack that ended my life?"

Cerdan's gaze drifted past Cyrael, and he spotted Selena standing at the far end of the room with an unrolled parchment in her hands. "You still don't get it, do you?" he said, trying to smile but failing to move the muscles on his face. "A thief's job isn't to strike the final blow. We just run interference."

At that time, Cyrael must have heard Selena's voice, chanting the last few syllables written on the scroll of Imprisonment she had taken from Lenthyrr. He turned just as the cleric pointed directly at the towering celestial. A flash of yellow light leaped from her fingers and enveloped Cyrael completely, burning his outline into Cerdan's vision, even as the rogue squeezed his eyes shut.

Raising a hand in front of his face, Cerdan squinted through the cracks between his fingers and saw the radiant celestial dissolve into nothing. There was no scream or final cries of defiance from Cyrael; he simply dissipated along with the fading light. The scroll in Selena's hands crumbled to dust and disappeared as well.

Letting out a breath, Cerdan turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground. He could hear Selena's footsteps coming closer as she hurried over to him. Lying back down, he stared up through the open ceiling. The sky was slowly becoming tinged with bright orange as fresh sunlight touched upon Baldur's Gate at long last.

(5:47)

The crowd seemed to be growing in proportion to the queasiness in Charell's stomach. Still, her Order owed a duty of trust to the people of the city and the whole of Faerun. And the truth had been concealed for long enough. A pair of knights stood on either side of her, partly for protection, but mostly so her words would convey more authority.

She recognized several faces in the gathered crowd, most of which came from positions that required them to be up at such an early hour. Merchants, several minor nobles, and even a few city councillors were looking on with interest, wondering what was about to happen. Charell had no doubt that word would carry; she just hoped it was the right step in regaining the people's trust.

"Half a century ago," she began, cutting directly to the heart of the matter, "The Order of Tyr partook in an armed conflict with the elven nations of the eastern forests. In the period since then, members of our Order claimed that the elves were at fault, and guilty of producing magical artifacts for the purpose of widespread devastation. Their alleged crimes later gave way for the Treaty of Caden's Hill. Today, many of my fellow brethren and I learned that these claims were not so." There were a handful of elves throughout the crowd, and they seemed to lean forward with piqued interest. "It is with great shame and humility that I must convey the truth to you, the people to whom we have deceived. We have recently acquired evidence that a number of our Order's senior clergy were responsible for overseeing the creation of a magical weapon known as the 'Behemoth', which resulted in the deaths of thousands of soldiers and civilians during the final battle at Caden's Hill."

She paused for a moment, and could hear the whispers and discontented murmuring coming from the onlookers. "Further details on this discovery will become known over the coming weeks, and during the ensuing investigation into this matter. It is out of responsibility that I stand before you today to inform you of these events, and we give you our word that every effort will be made to regain the trust of the people, faithful or not, within this city and beyond…"

(5:49)

_"… Many of you will find the words I have spoken today to be difficult to fathom. But I promise you, though a great injustice has been perpetuated for all this time, we will reach out and rectify the great divide that has grown between the parties involved…"_

The unicorn symbol must have represented something important to the man, before he died. Shen turned the pendant over in his hand before placing it back down on the table with the rest of the dead man's possessions. The Kara-turian looked back at the covered body that lay upon the slab nearby and could only lower his head out of respect and apology. He still felt tired and weak from all that had happened yesterday, but he owed it to show at least some shred of honour to the fallen. After all that had transpired, he still didn't even know the man's name.

One of the clergy members from the temple, a young boy, poked his head in the door and rudely pointed a finger at Shen's face. The child began babbling incomprehensible words at the warrior, but Shen had a feeling he was being ordered to leave.

"Leave me be, boy. I merely wish to pay my respects to this fallen comrade." He tried to turn away from the boy, but the child strode forward and brazenly seized him by the arm. "Unhand me, you fool. I'll not be befouled by this indignity. If you don't remove yourself, then I will not hesitate to strike a child!"

At that time, a young woman who had been passing by paused and looked inside. She shouted something at the child, who merely looked back at her and gave more gibberish in reply. The woman stepped inside and made a furtive gesture with her hand, causing the young boy to finally relent and let go of Shen's arm.

She glared at the boy as he moved off and then turned her attention to Shen. "I heard you shout from the hallway," she said in a broken Shou Lung dialect, "You have the appearance of an eastern noble."

_Finally, someone who at least understands me!_ He bowed to the woman. "Thank you, madam. My name is Shen, First Sword of House Zhong. It is good to hear a familiar tongue at last."

She nodded and returned the bow. Shen noticed there was a black wooden container of some sort strapped to her back. Perhaps she was a bard. "I'm Nell. I once traveled through Kara-tur for two years, studying your culture's music."

Shen smiled broadly. At long last, someone who was actually _useful_!

(5:51)

_"… There will be many of you who may ask why. Why would faithful members of our clergy stoop to such inexplicable measures, even in war? I can offer you no immediate answer. Only those directly involved can illuminate us as to their rhyme and reason. And they _will_ answer to their crimes…"_

Prelate Saudere had his arms crossed as he stared out the barred window. As if the fool cleric believed he would attempt to flee like a coward. That was the Bloodletter's way, but not his. He watched silently as Charell stood atop the stage, likely shouting self-aggrandizing words to exemplify her role in the discovery.

There was no doubt in his mind that this failure would bring about terrible repercussions against the Church of Tyr. Even worse, his private contacts would be even more displeased to learn of his carelessness with his set of the Crimson Scrolls.

Saudere inhaled slowly and straightened his posture. Whatever was coming, he would be ready for it. He could do no less.

(5:52)

_"… There will be challenges to overcome. Our enemies may attempt to use these discoveries to undermine our reputation and standing even further. I must ask for your patience and understanding. The terrible acts that came to pass on that day fifty years ago emphasize the need for vigilance. Be it known that no guilty man can evade justice indefinitely…"_

Dace didn't bother lingering once it became clear that Cyrael was defeated. He was not entirely certain what the elf's spell scroll was or where it came from, but the end results were clear. Cyrael was now disintegrated, and with that, his role in the assassination was over.

It was most disappointing that he had lost his bandolier of gems, his retirement funds, at the hands of Cyrael and the rest of the so-called celestial's gang of idiots, but there would be other opportunities to be found elsewhere. He was a free man once more, and that was a definite gain over where he had been less than a day ago.

The mercenary strode off through the streets of the Old Quarter, travelling off toward the docks. Perhaps he would try plying his trade in one of the southern nations of Faerun for a change.

After all, there was still so very much for him to do out there…

(5:53)

_"… And that, my friends and faithful, is the reason that this investigation is needed: Justice. How can we mete out justice, if we cannot even act against our own prior miscarriage of righteousness? The past may be set in stone, but the present is mutable. Know that we shall make every effort at redemption for what has transpired, and rightful justice will be found. A new day begins, and clearly we all have our work laid out before us. With that, I thank you for your time and bid you adieu."_

Cerdan sat quietly on one of the stone benches as Selena returned from the platform at the centre of the room. In one hand she held the Behemoth's Heart, now wrapped up in black fabric just in case he accidentally touched in later on. In her other hand…

"Is this your tooth?"

The rogue held out his hand and she dropped the white bloodied piece onto his palm. "Nope, it belonged to Cyrael. You should have seen how harshly I beat him. He would have been mewling like a baby when I was finished with him." He knew she wouldn't buy it, but he smiled anyway and pocketed his tooth.

"I used up the last of my spells earlier today against that undead elf. You need to go and see a healer for your injuries."

"Eh, later, on my own time. I think the bleeding has stopped, anyway." He rubbed his jaw as he looked about the chamber. "We seem to be missing someone."

"I'm not certain what happened to Dace. He must have fled and abandoned us after he missed his shot. I suppose that would be best for him. If he hadn't, I'd be placing him under arrest again."

Cerdan shrugged and waved his arm dismissively. "Eh, let him go. It would be best for all of us if we just forgot about him. I was never able to pay him that boat passage out of the city he wanted, but I doubt that will stop him from chartering the first ship away from town." He winced and touched his cheek as the pain in his mouth continued to sting.

She came over and sat down on the stone bench beside him, leaning forward slightly. "You realize, of course, that this may not be the end. Cyrael is merely imprisoned in a pocket underground. If someone casts a spell of freedom…"

"Don't worry. Wizards never go around casting spells as powerful as that one left and right. Besides, nobody will really know what happened here, except you, me, and Dace, and none of us will breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even that blackheart. Trust me, I know these things."

"And according to the words on the scroll, the imprisonment spell will expire naturally in one thousand years. After that, Cyrael will be released and appear right there in the same spot."

Cerdan smirked and looked her in the eye. "So what? I'll be long dead by then. Problem solved." He put a hand over his forehead as he gazed up at the sky. "And quite honestly, I'd prefer if the whole world forgot about me, and Caden's Hill for that matter."

"Oh…" Selena murmured, a slight frown appearing on her lips. "That could be a problem, considering the last request I made of Charell back at the temple."

"… I don't want to know, do I?" He asked. She shook her head at him, and he rolled his eyes in response. "Fine. Tell me another time. I'd rather not think about the future right now. Just let me take in the moment. It's over, at least."

Neither elf said anything for a long period. They sat silently and rested as tiny rays of sunlight began to appear in the narrow windows, casting bright shafts across the floor from the eastern side of the room.

"So, what happens now?" Cerdan slowly stood up and gave Selena an offhand salute. "Are your faithful fellows going to arrest me again?"

She sighed and shook her head. "It might be best if we stayed away from the city for the foreseeable future. Even if Saudere does become diverted, there will be others under his command that will continue the hunt for you, as well as this." The cleric pointed to the Behemoth's Heart.

He shrugged and helped her to her feet. "Yes, well, I was planning to leave town anyway. I seem to have outgrown the guild life… Hold on, did you say 'we'?"

"Yes, that's right. You do realize that I set you free and gave up my position at the temple in order to help you? That makes you my responsibility. And knowing you, you're liable to stumble your way into causing another massacre. I'm leaving with you."

Cerdan shrugged his arms and cocked his head, smirking as he followed her out. "Is that so? Certain it's not because you're falling for me?"

"Get over yourself," she said, rolling her eyes. "_Nobody_ would fall for you after a day like today. Especially after Caden's Hill and all you've done since."

"Surely I've made amends by now. Did you already forget how I heroically vanquished Cyrael?"

She turned and glared him in the eye. "You can say you've paid for your past, but you haven't truly done anything to repent. You opposed Cyrael, but only because he came after you. Maybe you feel guilt over what happened, but you never once told me about it until Saudere practically _made_ you confess. Have you even once gone to your home village to ask forgiveness for letting your own people die?"

The rogue crossed his arms. "No. I imagine they'd hang me just as quickly as Saudere."

"Then what of the battleground itself? You've never paid your respects to the fallen, have you?" Cerdan said nothing, but his expression must have given enough of an answer for her. "It's like you're a drifter, expecting the world to lay down a path for you as you float on to the next place. You can pretend to smile and smirk all you like, but you need to face the reality of your life and deal with this burden you carry." She poked him in the chest. "So no, you can't just wander off without me. I told you before that I've always believed in redemption over retribution. Well, now it's time to test the strength of my convictions. I'm coming with you, and you won't be rid of me until you've atoned for your crimes. Otherwise, you really are just a war criminal. You know you're better than that, don't you?"

Cerdan frowned as he considered her words. He liked her better before, when she didn't seek to criticize his every move. Still, she probably had a point. "…Okay."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself? 'Okay'?"

"Look, I won't make any promises to you, Selena. Not when my word is so easy to break," he said as they continued onward, toward the collapsed section of the wall in the back of the chamber. A moment later, he sighed and nodded. "But I suppose that would be fine. One day at a time, though. Tomorrow, the day after that, and we'll see how things turn out from there. For both our sakes, I do hope you're right about me."

As they stepped outside, the rogue squinted against the rising sun in the east and shook his head slightly. "Heh, listen to what I'm saying. Nobility doesn't suit me very well, does it?"

Selena smiled and touched him lightly on the shoulder as they began to make their way north, back toward the rest of the city. "Maybe better than you think, Cerdan. Maybe better than you think."

**(6:00 AM) Dawn**

**(Epilogue to follow)**


	26. Epilogue: A Coda in Red

**Epilogue: A Coda in Red**

**One month later**

The ride had been long and tiring, but it was necessary for him to endure. Shen stood in the shade beneath a massive white tree in the cemetery of the village, watching silently as some sort of clergyman addressed the gathered peasants. Every so often, the clergyman would make a hand gesture toward the archer's wood coffin and then bow his head as he spoke.

Shen was standing on his own, further away from the procession, following the body language of the other people attending the funeral. Even after spending a few weeks with that young bard, he still could not grasp their language beyond a few basic words. Dealing with foreign tongues was his sister's ability, certainly not his. Still, Nell had been kind enough to find out from the temple priests where the archer's home village was located. She even translated for him a letter to give to the townsfolk, explaining how Norris had perished, who Shen was, and as much as they knew of what had happened on that day. Unfortunately, she grew rather impatient with him shortly after that, and had to leave him to take care of her own affairs. Neither she nor the temple priests were able to find any information regarding the samurai's missing sister.

In the evening after the funeral ended, several of the locals seemed intent on buying him drinks at the local tavern as thanks. He went with them for a time, nodding along as they jabbered incoherently, but didn't actually partake in their offer.

It was on his way out of the rural village that a rather unexpected meeting occurred. A young man, a messenger of some sort, stopped Shen on the road as he was riding out of town, and handed an envelope to the samurai. Although Shen had no idea what the messenger was saying to him, there was a map within the envelope along with a letter that was written in a clear, crisp Shou Lung script.

The unnamed sender had discovered where Shen's sister was being held, and requested that the samurai follow the map directions, toward a desert in the northeast. Any attempt at interrogating the messenger yielded no answers. While Shen was suspicious as to how the sender even knew where he would be found, the samurai decided that he had no other leads to follow.

Hurrying his horse forward, Shen began to ride off along the road, wondering what the future had in store for him.

* * *

"… And that was when the priest told me I was ex-communicated! That was funny, yes?"

Nell raised her arms slightly, trying to hide her face behind her book. It was bad enough being stranded in the middle of Baldur's Gate with no money. The only reason she bothered staying to help the samurai was so she could earn enough gold to afford passage back north. She had already missed the Waterdeep Conservatory auditions, but perhaps there was still time to try out for one of Neverwinter's bardic colleges. The only caravan within her price range that travelled that far, however, placed her in a wagon with a nattering passenger beside her who just wouldn't shut up.

"So, what about you, little miss? What brings you up this way?" He placed a finger against the top of her book and pushed it down, grinning like a dunce.

She growled, "If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?"

"Why, certainly!"

"I was in Baldur's Gate to see their local art museum, and now I'm heading back home."

The man's eyes lit up and he somehow managed to smile even wider. "Why, that's most excellent! I've done much reading about their collection myself, and it certainly is one of the most diverse in the western realms!" Returning her eyes to her book, Nell grimaced and tried to ignore him.

"But I must say, little miss," the man continued, "I thought you had been forcibly teleported to Baldur's Gate through some sort of mirror portal, and ended up singly stopping a magic-fuelled beast that was ravaging the city's Old Quarter…"

Nell froze for a moment before looking up at him.

He continued to smile cheerfully at her. "Accomplishing such a feat would take a great amount of skill and talent, and I must say that as a fellow musician, you certainly seem to possess the qualities that we tend to look for in our members." Leaning in his seat against the side of the wagon, the man yawned and stretched his arms back, casually flipping up the collar of his tunic. On the underside of the collar was a small metallic brooch, adorned with the symbol of a silver crescent moon and harpsichord. "Tell me, little miss, have you ever heard of the Harpers?"

Nell rubbed her side of her head, groaning in annoyance. _Oh, bloody hell…_

* * *

"Hey! Hey! Get off of there, you mangy devil!" Derrick screamed, waving his arms in the air. The grey cat paused in its shredding of the antique map and stared at him for a moment. Then it went back to clawing its paws across Cormyr, leaving scratch marks in the countertop as well.

Derrick swatted near Jinx with his cane, "Shoo!"

Linde came over and scooped up the cat in her arms, giving the shopkeeper a silent glare. Mewling like a baby, Jinx climbed up around her shoulders and was trying to look innocent as the girl carried him away into the back of the store. No doubt the pet would cause even more damage back there.

"This is all Cerdan's fault." Although he did want his son back in his life, Derrick now had to take care of _two_ kids in addition to that furry grey ball of hate. All thanks to the elf. There was no question about it; if they were going to stay, he was going to make them work ragged.

The merchant leaned over the counter and watched as Bryn stood atop a ladder at the side of the store, dusting and organizing the tomes on the top shelves. The boy looked back, and waved to his father.

Derrick forced a smile onto his own face and returned the wave. He wondered if there were any poorhouses in Waterdeep that weren't above serving stew made of donated cats.

* * *

Saudere awakened in the middle of the night. It took him a few moments to remember where he was… in a solitary cell in Waterdeep, awaiting his time to testify before the Order of Tyr's Grand Inquisitor. He sat upright and squinted in the dark.

"You allowed the crimson scrolls to fall into the hands of outsiders."

The Prelate froze and didn't dare to move even slightly. "Who are–"

"You don't know who I am. But you know who I represent." The woman's voice was sharp and full of irritation. "You cannot even begin to fathom how disappointed we are."

"The scrolls are still being held in the evidence vault. You may need to–"

"I have already taken steps to contain the damage you've caused. The evidence your colleagues seized has been destroyed, I compromised your Order's vault myself." The Prelate could hear the intruder's footsteps come closer until she was standing no more than a few feet from his cot. He still couldn't see her. She continued, "You should count yourself fortunate that the only documents we provided to you were entirely focused on the Behemoth project. If your people gained knowledge of some of our other endeavours, you and I would be having a very different conversation."

Swallowing nervously, Saudere tried to maintain his composure. "Don't waste your words on me, girl. If you are here to execute me on your superiors' behalf, then waste no time. I will not fear my own death, and I know it will prevent others from learning the truth about Caden's Hill if I am not alive to testify."

There was utter silence for a long period. It felt like several minutes had passed when the woman finally replied. "No. The failure shall be upon you and your Order. We sever ourselves from any further involvement in your Behemoth project. You will go before your Inquisitors, and you will tell them the entire truth, _except_ for my organization's role." Saudere could hear her walking toward the cell door. "We will arrange to have you declared guilty, but granted a less harsh sentence. You will quietly retire to your family's estate… it is in a rural locale and out of the way, is it not?"

He heard the door click and open, but the torches lighting the hallway outside were not enough to illuminate the woman's form. The woman paused and said, "Do you understand? You are to implicate yourself and whichever fellow knights and clergy contributed to the Behemoth project. When the inquisition is done with the Behemoth and Caden's Hill investigation, there will be _no_ further questions. After that, we do not want to hear about you again. Nor will you hear of _us_."

Saudere's throat felt terribly parched as he replied. "I will do as you say."

She said nothing else, and closed the cell door behind her, locking it as well. Saudere placed his head in his hands, and sat quietly in the dark for the rest of the night.

* * *

There was no movement. Cyrael was frozen in place, trapped in the same pose since his failure at Baldur's Gate. He was held in a solid chunk of some kind of a translucent crystalline mineral. The glass-like crystal bound every part of his body, even filling his mouth and going down his throat to his lungs. Even if he hadn't already been made immortal by the power of the Sigil, the imprisoning enchantment would have magically sustained him, ensuring that he would survive in the absence of food, water, and air for the full duration of the spell.

Without mobility, he couldn't raise or speak his own spells. Without air, he couldn't even summon his fire swords to provide light or heat. As a celestial, the only light came from the dim glow that emanated from his skin. But all he could see were faint reflections of himself in the facets of the crystal prison, frozen with the same expression of shock on his face that he had when he realized what the elves were doing.

_How did it come to this?_ Cyrael thought. _I had a destiny! It was foretold!_

Without the celestial there to wage the war against humankind, Faerun was fated to die. This couldn't be right. There was no one else alive that would be able or willing to find and free him. If the spell held him here for a thousand years, then what ruined world might he find when he was finally released? Would there even be a world left?

Cyrael could think of little else as he waited there, petrified deep underground for years to come.

* * *

"The sun will be rising soon. We'd better hurry."

Cerdan continued to bash the patch of wet dirt with his shovel. He waved Selena off when she picked up one of the buckets of water they had brought with them. "No, I think that's good. We won't need any more."

It was hard to believe that this place had been the site of a massacre a mere fifty years ago. While standing there, Cerdan could barely even imagine the bodies he had seen strewn on and around the hill back during the final battle. The only reminder here was a vertical stone slab, no doubt raised by the survivors' families in the aftermath of the Behemoth's destruction. There were elvish words carved into the stone's face, but they had since been worn down by the elements into little more than illegible bumps and grooves. To the north were the forests where a few elven tribes still resided, but from what they'd heard, those communities were rapidly shrinking due to mass departures ever since the Battle of Caden's Hill.

"Uh, Cerdan, could you please place the staff now?" Selena asked, nudging him out of his momentary reverie.

"Ah, yes." Cerdan bent down and lifted the ornate staff that was lying on the ground. Fixed atop the staff was a large piece of carved red crystal that had at one time been the Behemoth's Heart. Holding the staff straight with both hands, the rogue slammed it deep into the patch of mud they had created. After letting it sink in a bit, he took some time to carefully adjust the staff to make sure it wasn't leaning at an angle. "Okay, I think this looks good. You can cast the spell now."

He continued holding the pole in position as Selena removed a spell scroll and began reading the syllables upon the parchment. When she finished speaking the necessary words, the parchment started to crumble in her hands, and she pointed at the patch of ground. The brown mud began to pale and harden, eventually transforming into solid stone and sealing the staff in place.

Releasing the staff, Cerdan took and step back and watched as the sun hit the translucent red crystal, creating a crimson light on the flat side of the standing stone. Carved into the back of the Behemoth's Heart was another short set of elvish words. With the light hitting the crystal directly at this early hour, the hour at which the Battle of Caden's Hill took place, the words were slightly magnified and projected onto the stone behind it.

"I'm glad you agreed to do this. Perhaps you are a bit more sensible than I've given you credit for. I'll admit, though," said Selena, "I'm still not sure about how safe this is."

"Oh, don't worry. That demon in the bottle drained the magical energy from the Heart. It's basically an inert gemstone now. Nothing will happen if I touch it again."

"I meant someone might try to steal it."

"Oh… well, I'm sure the elves from the nearby tribes will be coming here soon enough to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the battle. I think we can leave knowing they'll keep the crystal protected. Maybe they'll think it is a divine gift. They might even build a shrine around it."

"Cerdan, please don't be so pompous."

The rogue crossed his arms as he observed their handiwork, and then tilted his head toward Selena. "Anyway, I suppose you were right; it is the very least I could do. Do you want to say anything special for this occasion?"

"Somehow, I don't think the dead elven soldiers would appreciate any words from a member of their sworn enemies," she murmured. "They'd probably rather hear something from their commanding officer."

Cerdan shook his head slowly. "I've never been one for hollow speeches. And I couldn't bring myself to tell them their sacrifice was for some noble cause or even worthwhile in the end, especially when I know it wasn't." He sighed and gestured toward the elvish script projected upon the stone. "Maybe the words we chose say it best."

_At this site, 1322 Dale Reckoning, thousands of soldiers perished under the strength of the creature known as the Behemoth, a weapon of the Order of Tyr. Remember our struggle and remember our sacrifice. Remember Caden's Hill._

With nothing left to be said, they gathered their gear and began to make their way down the side of the hill toward their horses, before any of the local elves arrived.

"So, what do you think?" asked Cerdan, "Have I made amends yet?"

Selena smiled slightly. "It's a start."

"Oh, good. More work for me," murmured the rogue, pretending to sound upset. He helped Selena onto her horse, and then tied his shovel to the side of his own saddle. "And remind me to thank Derrick for referring us to what was probably the most expensive jeweller in Waterdeep. Spending half my money to cut a few words into a gem, and the other half to attach it to a shiny rod… I'll have to remember to kill our old friend some time. Merchants. They're the real thieves, you know."

As he mounted his horse, he noticed Selena giving him a peculiar look. "What is it?"

"What was it that Derrick said on our second visit? He said that everyone has to face their past and answer for what they've done in prior lives." She paused a moment before continuing. "But we can't let our pasts confine us from accepting who we are today. For a while now, I've been trying to figure you out… whether Cerdan was pretending to be Caden or if Caden was pretending to be Cerdan. Truth be told, I'm still not entirely sure yet."

"Disappointed?"

"Not really." She shrugged and kicked her horse into a gallop. "I have plenty of time. I'm in no rush to find out." Selena pointed northwest along the road, and nodded in the direction of the Sword Coast. "So… Neverwinter, next?"

"Neverwinter it is," Cerdan said with a grin and a wink. He spurred his horse onward, and the elves rode on into a brave new day.

* * *

_The High Prelate of Tyr, **Galin Saudere**, pleaded guilty to the charges laid against him regarding the creation and subsequent cover-up of a magical weapon of massive devastation that had been created by a group within the Church of Tyr several decades earlier. For several years after, the Order of Tyr's reputation would suffer greatly in the eyes of many people across Faerun._

* * *

_One month after his death, and many years after his exile, the fallen ranger **Norris Delaen **was returned to his home, a rural village far to the east of Waterdeep. He was laid to rest in his hometown's local cemetery, and was buried holding his pendant of Mielikki._

* * *

_**Zhong Shen **travelled north and east to the Anauroch Desert, investigating the claim that his sister was being held prisoner in a slavers' camp of some kind. Following this venture, the samurai returned home to Shou Lung, a nation of Kara-tur in the east._

* * *

_Ever the pessimist, **Nell Morgan **outright refused the membership offer from the Harpers, and did so with a very colourful choice of words directed at the recruiter. Seeing the value in a person possessing natural magic-resistance, however, the Harpers would continue to contact her over the years and, eventually, she relented and agreed to join them. This led to a particularly disastrous experience for the young woman, and she would quit the organization shortly thereafter._

* * *

_**Cyrael **was imprisoned deep beneath the Old Quarter in Baldur's Gate for a long time. Shortly after his eventual release from the crystalline containment, he finally found death and perished in battle amidst an explosion of blue flame._

* * *

_**Dace **survived._

* * *

_After returning to Waterdeep to live with his father, **Bryn **and his friend **Linde** spent several years working as apprentices to **Derrick Curaten**. Much to the elder Curaten's chagrin, years later both youths would leave and become adventurers. Even worse, in their adulthood they would eventually return to Baldur's Gate and rejoin the Shadow Thieves' guild._

* * *

_**Cerdan Engeven **and **Selena Shademoor **spent the next year on a mutual sojourn of sorts. Him, to quietly make amends for his past and learn some responsibility for once. Her, to see that the world went far beyond the walls of Baldur's Gate. Many years later, and through great labours, Selena would regain her priesthood in the Church of Tyr. Cerdan would never again return to the Shadow Thieves, or any other organized guild, for that matter. They would each make periodic returns to Baldur's Gate._

_Despite the information regarding the truth behind the Behemoth Project being made public, no one would ever come after Cerdan in search of the power that lay dormant within him. With the Behemoth's Heart rendered inert, the Behemoth itself was never again restored._

_Both elves would go on to travel Faerun extensively, sometimes together, sometimes not, but almost always with good faith and aplomb. And as for the future that lay beyond…_

* * *

**Seventy-five years later**

The bell over the door jingled as a cloaked young woman stepped inside the store. An elderly, balding man sitting at the shop's counter looked up and adjusted his spectacles as he squinted at the new entrant.

"Well, now! A customer!" he turned in his seated and shouted through the curtain that led to the back room. "You hear that Linde? We have a guest!" There was no reply for a beat. He then looked to the young woman and scratched his head, giggling slightly. "Oh, that's right. She can't hear me. Hee hee!"

The woman cleared her throat, and brushed some of her red hair from her eyes. "Please drop the charade, guildmaster Curaten. I am not here to peruse your inventory."

Bryn's attitude changed. His demeanour of a daft old man disappeared, and was quickly replaced with suspicion and wariness. "Now that's something I haven't been called in quite some time, girl. You are a few decades too late to be calling me that. Just what is it you want from me?"

"We've met before, I believe. I don't recall much myself, but I'm told you never forget a face. I believe you knew my parents."

Leaning forward slightly, Bryn adjusted his glasses again, squinting at the girl. She was an elf… and she did have startlingly familiar features. Suddenly, it dawned on him, and his face lit up as if he had just won a prize. "Ah, yes! Of course! I remember you now. Yes, you have your mother's hair."

"Good. I need you to provide me with some information. I would ask my parents, but now they're… gone, I suppose. More besides, they would probably refuse to answer me even if they were still around."

"I'm sorry, but while I recognize your face, I still seem to have some difficulties with names. And what, exactly, are you talking about?"

"My name is Talana Engeven, sir. Please, tell me what my father did at Caden's Hill."

**Fin**

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Author's Note:** Thanks for reading. Well, that single day took about three and a half years to finish. There will not be a direct sequel to this, and definitely no further 24-hour fics. But I do intend to write several (shorter) stand-alone stories that may draw upon characters previously introduced. Check my forum for further details. Peace out.

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